


Harder to Hide Than I Thought

by Mireille



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Nightmares, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Only One Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23394025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Peter's first out-of-town mission since becoming an Avenger seems pretty straightforward. He and Mr. Stark are going to a conference to make sure no one kidnaps a professor for her research. Peter's going to get extra credit from at least one of his professors if he brings back good notes, they'll protect this professor, and he'll get to spend a few days with his mentor/friend/fellow Avenger/crush.Then something goes wrong with their hotel reservations, and he's going to be a little more up close and personal with Mr. Stark than he thinks he can handle.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 21
Kudos: 393





	Harder to Hide Than I Thought

**Author's Note:**

> You will never believe how much extraneous crap about running a small academic conference at a minor university I deleted, because nobody wants to hear about my trauma. ;) 
> 
> Just to be clear going in: Peter is eighteen and in college in this fic.

****

"No, fine, we'll take it," Mr. Stark was saying as Peter came up to the front desk. He'd wandered off because there were free cookies on a table across the lobby, and he hadn't eaten in at least three hours. He was a growing Spider-Man, he needed food on a regular basis.

Also, the cookies had been warm, and they'd smelled really good. 

Mr. Stark handed over his credit card, scribbled his name on a couple of forms, and then looked at Peter. "Bad news, kid. They screwed up our reservation."

"We don't have a room?" 

Peter tried not to sound disappointed. He'd been looking forward to going to this tech conference with Mr. Stark. It wasn't like the big, well-orchestrated, super-fancy conferences they'd been to a couple of times before; this was being held at Midwest State University, and was for academics rather than multinational corporations. 

This also wasn't Stark Industries business, even if they were claiming it was. This was Avengers business, because they'd heard that multiple shady groups were very interested in the research a Dr. Sabrina Condit was doing, and Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes thought it was likely that someone was going to try to kidnap her in order to force her to work for them. 

So Tony Stark had taken an interest in this minor conference, and he'd brought his intern along because he thought it would be good for Peter to hear some of the speakers. 

Cover story aside, Peter actually was looking forward to hearing some of the speakers. He was missing classes for this conference, since it was being held during the week, but it was relevant enough to his coursework that his professors had okayed his absence. His computer science professor had even asked him to bring back a copy of the handouts from Dr. Condit's talk.

So this was more than ordinary disappointment. If they didn't have a room in the official conference hotel, it would be harder for them to make sure Dr. Condit was safe, and that was the main point of the trip out here. 

And if they didn't have a room, Mr. Stark might decide they should go back to New York, and that would ruin the secondary point of the trip out here. Tomorrow morning, Peter could be sitting in Physics 201, and that was _not_ how he'd wanted his week to go. 

Warm chocolate-chip-walnut cookies didn't make up for that. 

"We have a room," Mr. Stark said. "We don't have the suite we reserved, but luckily, they had a cancellation, and we could get a room here instead of the Days Inn down the road." He smiled at the girl behind the front desk--she looked like she was around Peter's age, and the name tag pinned to her blouse said WENDY--and she gave him a worried smile in return. 

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Stark," she said. "I have no idea how your reservation didn't make into the computer. I wish I had more than one room available, but with the conference, we're booked up." 

"It's okay," he told her. "You had nothing to do with the mix-up, and at least you found us a room." 

Peter was guessing, from her expression, that there hadn't so much been a cancellation as that a later arrival was going to be checking into the Days Inn unexpectedly, so that Wendy didn't risk her manager finding out that they almost had Tony Stark staying at their hotel, but they'd let him go somewhere else instead. 

"Here are your keys," she said, holding them out. "If there's anything else you need, let us know. We don't have room service, but there's a complimentary hot breakfast buffet from six to nine tomorrow--we have waffles!--and there are menus in your room from local restaurants that offer delivery."

Mr. Stark didn't take the keys, and Peter didn't bother to explain that Mr. Stark was weird about people handing him things. He just reached out and snagged the key cards from her, like a good little intern. 

"I'm sure everything's going to be fine," he told her. Mr. Stark could survive without room service for a few nights. And as for himself, this was a perfectly nice hotel, nicer than most of the ones they'd stayed in on academic decathlon trips in high school, so he had no problem. 

It was nothing like the hotels they'd stayed in when Mr. Stark had taken him to industry tech conferences in San Francisco and Tokyo, but Peter thought he might like this a little better. 

He definitely liked the idea of this conference better; Peter wanted to get to talk to the brains behind emerging technologies, not just watch slick presentations about them. Being Tony Stark's intern opened a few doors, but he was still just an intern, so they didn't open all that far. 

Being an eager and inquisitive student at an academic conference, he was hoping, would get him at least a little farther. 

The clerk still looked a little uncertain, so Peter gave her a huge smile. "Waffles sound great, too." He understood being totally overwhelmed by Tony Stark. He'd known Mr. Stark for over three years now, and it still happened to him sometimes. 

"Well, if there's anything we can do for you, just dial zero for the front desk," she said. Peter smiled and thanked her again, then turned to Mr. Stark. 

"Come on, let's go up," he said. "We need to get over to the university soon; registration closes at four-thirty today." There were probably some procedures in place for late arrivals; even if there weren't, there were probably some procedures in place for billionaire tech geniuses who showed up late. 

Peter had learned early on that Tony Stark didn't have to follow the same rules as normal people. Still, Peter didn't like asking for special treatment if they didn't have to.

Mr. Stark had been looking around at the people coming and going through the lobby. "Any sign of Dr. Condit?" Peter asked. 

"No, but she's probably at the university already," he said. "I don't recognize anyone here from our intel, either. That doesn't mean they aren't here to kidnap her, but if they have, they're not major players." He picked up his suitcases and started across the lobby toward the elevator.

Peter followed behind him. He snagged another couple of cookies as they went, wrapping them in a napkin and sticking them in his jacket pocket. He needed enough to share with Mr. Stark, after all. 

"We're in room 417," he said when they stopped in front of the elevator. He held out the keycards, and Mr. Stark took one from him. 

Peter set his suitcase down by his feet and adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. He hoped the bathroom was big enough for him to get changed in. He'd dressed casually for the flight, not wanting to get his one suit wrinkled before they even got to the conference, but he felt a little awkward about stripping to his underwear in front of his mentor. 

Also, the guy he'd had a crush on since he was fifteen. (Nothing before that counted. That had been a _celebrity_ crush. This was based on actual reality.)

But he was sure that bathroom was big enough to change in, and everything was going to be fine. 

The elevator was empty when they got in, and since they were going up, nobody joined them from the intervening floors; a couple of minutes later, the doors opened to let them out on the fourth floor. 

"I call the bed by the window," Peter said as they stopped outside room 417. 

"Yeah, fine, but if you open the drapes before seven tomorrow, I'm leaving you behind when I go back to New York," Mr. Stark said, grinning at him. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, waving Peter in ahead of him. "Here we are, kid. Our home away from home until Saturday morning." 

Peter found the light switch, then moved out of the narrow entryway so that Mr. Stark could come inside as well. 

He'd intended to go all the way into the room and put his suitcases down on his bed so he could unpack, but instead, he stopped just level with the bathroom door, shaking his head. 

"Something wrong?"

"Kind of," he said. "I don't want to sound ungrateful or anything since you're paying for the room, but there's only one bed." 

"Are you sure? Of course you're sure," he added immediately, "you can count to one." 

One was definitely the number of beds in front of them. It was a big bed, granted, and neither he nor Mr. Stark were particularly big people, so that wasn't technically a problem. 

It was only a problem because Peter was sure he wasn't going to be able to get any sleep in a bed with Mr. Stark, but it wasn't like he could come right out and say that.

"Dammit," Mr. Stark said. "I was so relieved that they had a room that I forgot to ask what kind of room." 

Peter went further into the room and set his bags down on the side of the bed closest to the windows. "I guess, I mean, if it's the only room they have, we'll just have to make the best of it. We want to be close to the conference, and Dr. Condit is supposed to be staying in this hotel, so we should probably stay here." 

"We should," Mr. Stark agreed, "and to be honest, it doesn't look too bad." He sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little on the mattress. "Yeah, this is good. And it does have a minibar, in case you need junk food and the cookie supply runs out." 

"Hey, one of these is for you," Peter said, taking the napkin-wrapped bundle of cookies out of his pocket and putting them on the nightstand. "I share."

Mr. Stark took one of the cookies and tried it. "Not bad," he said. "Thanks, kid." He finished the cookie and said, "We do need to get over to the university, though. How often are they running the shuttle van?"

Peter had spent the flight going through the conference information. He'd learned on previous trips that Mr. Stark never paid attention to that kind of detail, and this was one of the times where he was supposed to behave like a normal intern. "Every fifteen minutes," he said, "from half an hour before the first event starts to half an hour after the last one ends." 

"It's five after. I don't think we can be ready in ten minutes, so let's get the one after that." He stood up again, opening his suitcases. "I'll take the top two drawers," he said, not waiting for Peter to answer before he started putting his clothes away. 

"I need to change," Peter said. "I'll unpack tonight if I don't have time now." Mr. Stark was already wearing a suit, but he was probably a lot more comfortable wearing them than Peter was. He had a _lot_ of suits. 

Peter liked the one Mr. Stark had on today, charcoal gray with a slight roughness to the fabric that Peter liked the feel of. Not that he went around touching Mr. Stark's suits, but he'd brushed against it a couple of times. 

He grabbed clothes out of his suitcase and went into the bathroom to change. Maybe that'd make him look weird. It wasn't like guys didn't change clothes in front of one another all the time, in locker rooms and things like that. It wasn't like he was going to completely strip, even. He'd seen Ned in his underwear plenty of times, and vice versa.

But Mr. Stark wasn't Ned. Peter hadn't ever fantasized about Ned. 

He changed as quickly as he could, but wound up coming out with his tie in his hand. Mr. Stark had finished unpacking and was looking out of the window, which had a view of the parking lot. "Not very scenic," he said when he realized Peter was behind him, "but useful for our purposes." 

"I guess so," Peter said. "Do the windows open?" 

"Unfortunately, no. The suite had a balcony, but the regular rooms don't have anything like that." 

Balconies and outside fire escapes were some of Spider-Man's best friends. "I suppose we improvise," he said. 

"It's what I do best." He turned around and saw the tie in Peter's hand. "What's that for?"

"I need you to help me tie it," Peter said sheepishly. "I wear a tie maybe once a year, and May helps me with it." She'd tied it around his neck when she was helping him pack, and then loosened it so that it could fit over Peter's head, but it'd come untied in the suitcase. 

"You don't need a tie," he said firmly. "You definitely don't need _that_ tie. Remind me to get you some decent ties."

"I can buy my own ties," Peter argued. "And this one's fine."

"It really isn't," Mr. Stark said. "It's maroon polyester. How did I not realize how bad your tie was before now?"

"I don't usually wear it at conferences," Peter said. Both times they'd gone to conferences, he'd worn his suit without a tie in the evenings, and khakis and his nicer shirts during the day. He'd fit in okay. Not with the important people like Mr. Stark, but with the other interns. 

Here he was trying to fit in with academics, and May had told him he should wear a tie, so he had a tie. 

"Don't wear it today, either." He took his glasses out of his pocket and put them on. "Friday, Peter Parker needs two neckties sent to his home. One plain black, one red, same style as that blue tie I wore yesterday." He turned to Peter. "We'll get you more of a variety later, but those will at least be a start." 

"Mr. Stark, I can't let you buy me clothes."

"If you worked at McDonald's, would you let them buy you a polyester uniform?"

"Yeah, of course I would." 

"And you let me give you the Spider-Man suit."

"Of course. I can do a lot in the labs at school, but not nanotechnology." 

"Well, these ties are part of the uniform for your Stark Industries internship. They're not a favor. They're a necessity."

Peter wasn't sure he believed that--especially since the part of his internship that actually looked like a normal internship, in the lab with Mr. Stark, usually involved him wearing jeans and a T-shirt. "I don't usually wear ties at conferences, though," he said again.

"We're going to be presenting some of the work we're doing in nanotechnology in Munich right after Christmas," Mr. Stark said, "and you're going to be on stage with me. You'll need a tie." He looked Peter over. "In fact, I should probably get you a suit."

"May would never let you get me a suit," Peter said. But if she thought Mr. Stark disapproved of Peter's suit, she'd max out her MasterCard trying to get Peter the right kind of suit for his internship, and that wasn't okay, either. "She's not going to be crazy about the ties." 

"All right, fine, wear your suit, but you're going to wear a decent tie." Mr. Stark took Peter's tie from his hand and tossed it onto the bed. "Unbutton your collar."

Peter had only buttoned the top button because he'd expected to be wearing a tie, so he had no problem with that. "Do I look okay?"

Mr. Stark looked him over appraisingly, and Peter had to remind himself that this was just a mentor giving his mentee advice on a professional wardrobe. Mr. Stark wasn't checking him out or anything, even if Peter really wanted him to. 

"You look like an undergrad," he said after a moment, "which is what you are, so that'll be fine. You've got your suit?" 

"In my backpack," Peter said. 

Mr. Stark had designed a nanotech suit for Peter that worked the same way the newest Iron Man armor did, but Peter didn't keep it permanently attached to him. It was one thing when the whole world knew you were Iron Man and had gotten used to you having a glowing light on your chest. That kind of thing could really blow a secret identity, though, so Peter carried the casing for his suit along with him in his bag or in a pocket. "You said I could carry a backpack to this thing."

"Hm? Oh, yeah, you'll blend in with all the other students and half the professors," Mr. Stark said. "I'm going to go wash up, and then we'll be ready to go." He disappeared into the bathroom, and Peter sat down on the edge of the bed, sighing. 

_Focus_ , he told himself sternly. They were here to listen to presentations and to keep an eye out for anyone who might be targeting Dr. Condit, not for Peter to stress out about a perfectly ordinary reservations mix-up. 

Mr. Stark wasn't bothered by their new sleeping arrangements, after all. They weren't ideal, but he was willing to roll with it. Peter needed to do the same thing. It was a big bed, and it was fine. He'd slept in the same bed as Ned before, and that had never been a big deal.

This was just the same thing. 

Except, of course, it wasn't the same thing, because Peter didn't have a crush on Ned. Ned hadn't starred in at least three-quarters of Peter's sex fantasies ever since he started having them (it was probably ninety percent if Peter only counted the last year or two, since he'd really gotten to know Mr. Stark). 

This wasn't the same thing at all, and Peter knew it. 

He'd just have to pretend it was, because otherwise, he was never going to get through the next three days without his head exploding.

****

"Do you remember why we're here?" Mr. Stark demanded in the elevator back up to their room a few hours later.

"To bore me to death?" Peter suggested. They hadn't seen anything remotely suspicious. They'd checked in at the conference, then sat through the keynote speech, which was full of doubletalk and bragging.

Because Mr. Stark was who he was, they'd been invited to a reception afterward, where Peter had drunk store-brand soda and eaten peanuts and cheese cubes while Mr. Stark drank wine from Costco and ate the same peanuts and cheese cubes. This was definitely a college budget, not the kind of thing he figured Mr. Stark was used to, but Mr. Stark didn't seem to mind. 

They'd met Dr. Condit, who'd brushed off Mr. Stark's greeting with a curt, "Yes, we've met," but answered a couple of Peter's questions about a paper she'd published a few months ago without seeming to mind the intrusion at all. 

Then they'd kept an eye on her. Nobody had followed her, nobody else seemed to be watching her, nobody behaved suspiciously around her. She talked to a few people, had a glass of wine, and acted like someone who had nothing to worry about. 

Of course, she might not know that she did have anything to worry about. 

The reception had been pretty dull; Peter had passed the time by talking to a grad student named Miguel, who was part of the committee putting on this conference. His research was more theoretical than Peter was generally interested in--something involving nondeterministic finite automata and Turing machines--but he was willing to answer Peter's questions about graduate school in general, which was nice. 

Freshman year was too soon to worry about grad school, but it wouldn't hurt to be prepared, either. 

Then there'd been a dinner, which they'd have skipped, except that Dr. Condit was going to be there, and again, they needed to keep an eye on her. They'd separated during the meal; Mr. Stark had been at a table with a lot of the conference speakers, and Peter had been assigned to a table with Miguel and some of the other students working at the conference. 

That was probably for the best. It meant that they had two vantage points to keep an eye on Dr. Condit. 

Not that Mr. Stark was focused on doing that, from what Peter could see. He was a lot more focused on another woman at the table, who looked like she was in her thirties, and who was wearing a tight blue dress. There was nothing wrong with the dress; there were other women in the room dressed like her. It was just that Mr. Stark was staring at her. 

"That's Dr. Quinlan," Miguel said. "She works with VR technologies. She's on my thesis committee." 

"Huh?" 

"The woman your boss is drooling on." He shrugged. "This conference isn't as gross as the bigger ones, where a lot of the professors stay drunk the entire time and play musical hotel rooms instead of attending sessions." With a smile, he added, "Something for you to look forward to, I guess." 

"I'm really hoping to learn a lot this week," Peter said, trying to seem way too innocent to be having any opinions about Mr. Stark and a blonde in a blue dress. 

He didn't, for example, notice that while she wasn't acting unfriendly to Mr. Stark, she seemed to be strictly business the entire time. Or that Mr. Stark's demeanor became gradually less flirtatious as they talked. 

That didn't relieve him any, either, because there was no reason for him to be relieved about that.

Miguel's voice cut into his thoughts. "Can I give you some advice, Peter?" 

"Sure, that'd be great." 

"I know when you're working really closely with somebody, a lot of lines can get really blurry, but it's almost never a good idea. And you won't know if your case is one of the exceptions until afterward." Miguel shrugged. "It doesn't happen all the time, but it happens often enough that we've all seen it."

One of the other grad students, a woman whose name Peter didn't catch, nodded. "And it's rarely the professor or the boss who suffers for it, even if they're the ones breaking rules." 

Peter felt himself flushing. "It's not like that," he argued, even though he knew it only wasn't "like that" because Mr. Stark wasn't interested. "He's just a really great mentor." 

Peter wasn't sure if Miguel believe him, but he nodded and said, "That's good to hear," so he was going to act like he did. 

Which was a relief, because Peter did not want to be having that conversation. He'd thought about it often enough on his own, though he still didn't think he'd let that stop him if Mr. Stark wanted him. 

They'd be the exception, he told himself, and if they weren't, it'd still be fine. He'd still have Spider-Man, and losing the Stark internship might suck, but he'd manage without it. His future would be okay no matter what happened. 

Peter managed to both keep up a conversation with Miguel and his friends and keep an eye on Dr. Condit until the meal was over, when she'd left the banquet room without either of them seeing where she went. Probably just back to her room, but Peter was disappointed in himself--he'd been planning to follow her when she left, to find out where her room was--and Mr. Stark seemed annoyed. 

Spies, they were not. 

"We're supposed to be protecting Dr. Condit," Mr. Stark said, "and instead, we completely lost sight of her."

Peter shrugged. "It's not like we can keep a tracker on her? And people were coming and going all the time, because the bathroom's down the hall." 

"Just keep your mind on the mission," Mr. Stark said. "No flirting with the grad students. Or the professors, either."

"That's kind of a little bit hypocritical, isn't it, coming from the guy who spent dinner staring down Dr. Quinlan's dress?" Not that it was any of Peter's business what Mr. Stark did. Smart and gorgeous, of course Tony Stark was going to practically drool down her dress. 

Mr. Stark just frowned at him for a minute, and Peter quailed. He argued with Mr. Stark all the time, of course he did, but he didn't usually call him on things that had absolutely nothing to do with him, either as himself or as Spider-Man. 

"Sorry," he said quickly. "That's none of my business." The elevator doors slid open, and Peter practically leaped out into the hall. Not that he'd be able to get away with this conversation. It wasn't very late, so he couldn't even pretend he wanted to go to sleep. Even accounting for the time zone difference, Peter was almost never in bed this early. 

"It's not," Mr. Stark agreed, following Peter out of the elevator, "and I was trying to get her to do some consulting work for SI, not get her into bed, but you're also not wrong. I'm annoyed that we lost track of Condit, but that's not your fault. Or at least no more your fault than mine." 

They stopped outside their door, and Mr. Stark waved his keycard in front of the lock. "Come on," he said to Peter. "We're going to need to come up with a better strategy before tomorrow, or we might as well not even be here." 

Peter hung up the "do not disturb" sign and put the chain on the door. He kicked off his shoes and hung up his suit jacket. 

Mr. Stark had sat down in the desk chair, the only place to sit that wasn't the bed. He hadn't even loosened his tie. 

"I should probably go ahead and get ready for bed before we talk," Peter said. "I only have the one suit, so I don't want it to get wrinkled." He went to the dresser and got out the sweatpants and ESU T-shirt he'd brought to sleep in. 

"Yeah, go ahead," Mr. Stark said. "I'm going to check out the minibar."

Peter had only stayed in a hotel with a minibar once, on a school trip. The chaperones had warned them so many times about not taking anything out of it, ever, that he almost caught himself passing the warning on to Mr. Stark. 

Almost. Just in time, he reminded himself that no matter how expensive stuff was, Mr. Stark could afford it. 

In the bathroom, Peter brushed his teeth and washed his face, then took off his pants and shirt. He decided he should probably leave his underwear on for the night; if something happened and they had to go chasing after Dr. Condit's kidnappers, Peter wanted to have more on than a pair of baggy sweatpants that had a tendency to slip down if he didn't pull the drawstring tight enough. 

He made sure to pull it extra tight, because underwear or not, he didn't need his pants to fall down in front of Mr. Stark. 

Mr. Stark had taken off his jacket, tie, and shoes when Peter came back into the bedroom, so at least Peter didn't feel terribly underdressed. Sure, Mr. Stark's shirt probably cost more than the total of every shirt Peter had ever owned, but still, it was a little more casual.

He'd also found something he thought was worth drinking in the minibar, because he had a glass with an inch or two of something brown in it. Peter wasn't great at identifying types of alcohol, but brown was usually some kind of whiskey, wasn't it? 

There wasn't anywhere else to sit, so Peter settled down on his side of the bed; he used his pillows as a backrest and sat with his legs crossed. He decided to risk teasing Mr. Stark a little. The worst that could happen was that he'd frown at Peter and tell him to be serious for a minute, and that didn't worry Peter the way it would have a couple of years ago. 

"Feeling less grumpy now?" 

Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. "No," he said. "We still let her slip away. She's fine, by the way; while you were changing, I had Friday find her room number for me and called the room."

"What did you say?"

"That I had the wrong number." He shrugged. "It's not important. She answered, so she's okay. But she could have been kidnapped, and that would be on us." 

"We should tell her why we're here," Peter said. "Or why you're here, anyway, since I'm just your intern."

"I don't know that she'd care," he said. "She didn't seem all that impressed when I introduced myself."

"She doesn't have to be impressed by you to take it seriously when an Avenger tells her she's in danger." 

"My ego would like to disagree. Clearly, everyone needs to be impressed by me," Mr. Stark said, but he smiled at Peter as he said it. "But if we ignore my ego--I don't recommend that as a general rule, but we'll make an exception this time--you have a good point."

Peter almost missed the acknowledgment; he was distracted by the way Mr. Stark was smiling at him. Maybe he shouldn't like the way the lines around Mr. Stark's eyes deepened when he smiled like that. It seemed like a weird thing to find attractive, especially since "lines" was just a nice way to say "wrinkles," and wrinkles weren't supposed to be attractive. 

But they were nice, and they only crinkled up like that when Mr. Stark was really smiling, not just the fake one he gave a lot of people when they were out in public like they'd been tonight. 

Mr. Stark smiled like that, really smiled, at him a lot, and sometimes Peter let himself hope that meant something. 

Of course it meant something. It meant Mr. Stark liked him. If he didn't, Peter would be doing his internship under someone from the R&D department at SI, and Mr. Stark would have decided that Spider-Man didn't need a mentor anymore. 

It just didn't mean anything more than that. 

"So tomorrow you'll talk to her, and maybe she'll make our job a little easier by telling us where she's going," Peter said. "What about tonight? I could change into my suit and go on patrol outside the hotel."

"We don't want a Spider-Man sighting here unless it's absolutely necessary," Mr. Stark reminded him. "We're too far from New York for it to just be a coincidence that Spider-Man was in the same city where Peter Parker was at a conference." 

Peter sighed. "Yeah, that's true." He'd kind of been hoping for an excuse to spend most of the night away from the hotel room. Otherwise, eventually, he'd have to go to bed, and that meant sleeping right next to Mr. Stark. 

What if he talked in his sleep? What if he had some kind of dream that led him to cuddle with Mr. Stark in his sleep? What if he dreamed about Mr. Stark and Mr. Stark figured it out? 

"She's on the fifth floor," Mr. Stark said, "and her room doesn't have a balcony either. I checked the floor plan. Hopefully, she won't open her door to anyone tonight, and whoever's after her decides not to take any foolish risks, since there are still two more days of the conference for them to find an opportunity."

Peter nodded. "They'd have to drag her out through the lobby, right?" 

"There are two side exits, plus the one in the back for deliveries," Mr. Stark said. "One by the pool and one near the business center. But the parking lot's well-lit, and there are twenty-four-hour businesses on either side of the hotel, so they'd still risk being seen. If I were them, I'd find an excuse to draw her off for a private chat at the conference--maybe after the last regular session of the day, when a lot of people are leaving, so she wouldn't be missed right away--and go from there." 

"Do you spend a lot of time thinking about how you'd kidnap somebody?" 

"I've given a lot of thought to how to avoid being kidnapped. Or how someone might get to someone I care about."

Which was a lot more serious than Peter had been aiming for. "Yeah. I guess so. It's not really something I've ever thought much about." Not since the last "stranger danger" presentation they'd had in elementary school, anyway. 

He was just a kid from Queens. Nobody was going to try to kidnap him. Spider-Man, maybe, but that was a lot harder to do. 

"Anyway," Peter went on, because he felt responsible for the downer this conversation had become, "the first session's at eight, so I should probably get some sleep." He got up and turned back the blankets on the bed. "I don't think I snore," he said. "Ned's never complained, and May hasn't ever said anything either." 

"I'm sure you're fine," Mr. Stark said absently. "I'm going to catch up on some emails, but feel free to turn the light out. Is my phone going to bother you?" 

"No, of course not. I'm probably going to be on my phone for a while anyway, but the light won't bother me when I try to sleep." Peter really didn't want to be the first to fall asleep. Nobody ever told him he snored. Nobody ever mentioned him talking in his sleep, either, but just in case, he wanted to be awake until Mr. Stark was asleep and couldn't hear anything Peter was talking about. 

It wasn't like he didn't have dreams about Mr. Stark at least twice a week anyway. Having him right there in the same bed was pretty much asking for another one. 

But Peter had scrolled through Twitter and Instagram, and had messaged back and forth with Ned a while, and checked both his campus email and his Gmail account, and Mr. Stark hadn't even looked up from his phone for longer than it took to take a sip of his drink.

Peter read a couple of the less infuriating hero-related subreddits, signed in to his second Reddit username to leave some indignant comments in defense of Iron Man, and then used his college library access to skim through a couple of journal articles written by people who were going to be speaking at the conference the next day, because this wasn't just about Avengers business. 

Mr. Stark was still looking at his phone. 

After he'd run out of lives on three stupid freemium games, Peter gave up. He put his phone on the charger and lay down, putting a pillow over his eyes. "It's getting late," he said. 

"Yeah. Seriously, if you need me to, I'll go downstairs and sit in the lobby. I don't want to keep you up."

"You're not going to bed?"

"I don't need a lot of sleep." 

Peter was pretty sure that was a lie. He was also pretty sure that he and Mr. Stark didn't have the kind of friendship that let him point out that it was a lie. "I'll be fine with the light," he said. "It'd probably disturb me more for you to let yourself into the room in the middle of the night." 

It wouldn't, probably; Peter was a pretty sound sleeper unless that weird sixth sense he had told him there was trouble. But as much as he knew the potential for massive crush-based humiliation was lurking right around the corner, he still didn't want Mr. Stark to leave, and "it won't bother me if you stay" was going to go over a lot better than "please stay with me." 

It was nearly midnight now, which meant one a.m. in New York, and he'd been up since six, after being out chasing muggers until almost two. It didn't matter anymore that he wanted to stay awake until Mr. Stark fell asleep. He wasn't getting a choice. 

"G'night," he mumbled, sinking back onto the mattress. He was pretty sure Mr. Stark said something in reply, but he couldn't have repeated it if someone offered him a million bucks to try.

****

Something was wrong.

Peter sat bolt upright in bed, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his phone. He didn't want to turn on a lamp and risk waking Mr. Stark, but maybe the light from the screen would be enough to let him see what was happening. 

As Peter's brain came fully on-line, he registered three things: one, Mr. Stark hadn't come to bed yet, and Peter's phone said it was a little after three. Two, Mr. Stark had fallen asleep in his chair--so much for not needing sleep. And three, that feeling of wrongness was focused on Mr. Stark. 

In the bluish glow of Peter's phone screen, he could see that Mr. Stark was twitching and moving restlessly in his sleep; he muttered something that Peter couldn't make out, but which was apparently important, because it sounded like he said the same thing more than once. 

Peter's "sixth sense" had woken him up because Mr. Stark was having a nightmare? It usually warned him of danger, not something like this. 

Then Peter saw that red and gold plates were forming around Mr. Stark, the nanites that made up his armor responding to some subconscious instructions he was giving in his sleep, and he realized that there was a reason for the warning. 

"Mr. Stark?" Peter called, but he didn't seem to hear. 

The armor wasn't forming as quickly as it did when Mr. Stark was awake and doing it intentionally; in fact, parts of it disappeared, and then re-formed. Responding to something in Mr. Stark's dream, maybe? Peter didn't know. It'd be an interesting thing to get Friday to collect data on, maybe, but that wasn't the issue right now. 

Right now, though, it meant that when Peter got out of bed and went over to Mr. Stark, his shoulder was still only covered by his shirt, and he had a chance of knowing that Peter's hand was on him. 

"Everything's okay," Peter said. "You're good. You're fine. It's Peter. Peter Parker. We're in a hotel because we're at the AI conference, and everything's okay." 

To Peter's relief, the armor dissolved and stayed gone, and Mr. Stark's eyes opened. "Peter? What--?"

"I think you had a nightmare," Peter said. 

"Shit. I'm sorry, kid." He sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Did I--is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're fine, nothing happened. Something woke me up--" He decided that he could tell Mr. Stark about the sense of danger later; he was agitated enough right now without having to think that Peter's instincts had decided he was a threat-- "and you were muttering stuff, and your armor kept partly forming, then going away again."

" _Shit_ ," he repeated. "I thought I was done with that." 

"It's happened before?"

"Not with this armor. I, uh, summoned the armor to my bedroom once because I was having a nightmare. I thought I'd solved that problem, but I guess this new armor is going to need some tweaking." He was fully awake now, and he frowned at Peter. "You're okay, really?"

Peter nodded and gave him a tired smile. He wasn't sure if Mr. Stark could see it, though. He saw well enough in the dark that the light from his phone was more than enough, but Mr. Stark didn't have his heightened senses. "I'm fine. I should be asking you if you're okay, though. You're the one who was having the nightmare." 

He shrugged. "Comes with the territory," he said. "I'm surprised you don't have nightmares, after some of the things you've seen."

"I do, sometimes," he admitted, then decided to take a chance. "But not any so bad that I try not to go to sleep at all." 

Mr. Stark clutched at his chest, grinning at Peter even if it seemed a little forced. "Ouch. A palpable hit." 

"So I'm right," Peter said. "I was just guessing, but..."

"I sleep," he said. "I just try not to do it around other people." 

And probably not enough, Peter was guessing, but Mr. Stark wasn't going to want a lecture on how he should sleep more. Definitely not from someone he thought of as kind of his kid sidekick.

"That time I mentioned, when I summoned the armor in my sleep? I wasn't alone. It could have been really bad. Like I said, I corrected the problem, but there must be something in the interface with the nanites that I need to fine-tune. Get them to recognize REM sleep and ignore any instructions they think I'm giving them when I'm dreaming." 

He pulled out his phone, tapping on the screen for a little while. "I wish we were back in New York. I could go to the lab and get started on--"

"Mr. Stark," Peter said, as firmly as he could. "We're in a hotel room. It's three in the morning. We're on a mission. This can wait. Put the phone down and go to bed." 

"You saw what happened, Pete. I'm not going to risk--"

"You're not going to risk anything. One, I'm Spider-Man. You were probably--when it happened the first time, the other person there, they were, uh, an ordinary person, right?"

"Not in the slightest," he said, "but she doesn't have any kind of powers." 

"Right. I can hold my own, and it'd just be until I could get you to wake up, anyway. A few seconds. I'd be fine."

"And two?" 

"Two, you're going to put your glasses on, and Friday's going to wake you up if your armor starts responding to your dreams."

"That's--you know, that might work. Unless I'm having a nightmare, I don't move around much in my sleep anyway, so the glasses should be fine." 

"You didn't move that much tonight," Peter said. "It was mostly twitching."

"Yeah? I always feel like I've been going ten rounds with a grizzly bear, so I figured there was a lot more thrashing around in the bed." He stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, you win. It's not a terrible idea."

This really wasn't the way Peter had ever envisioned coaxing Mr. Stark to come to bed with him, but he'd take what he could get. And Mr. Stark did need sleep. He was the only one who could be publicly interested in protecting Dr. Condit. Peter wasn't an Avenger; he was an intern. Spider-Man was several states away, in Queens. Or not, but nobody would think that. They'd just think they hadn't seen him for a couple of days, not that nobody had. 

Mr. Stark got into bed. He was holding his phone, but Peter wasn't going to say anything about that. If Peter had just completely freaked himself out, he'd probably need a few minutes before he could settle down enough to sleep, too. 

So instead, he got into bed, lying on his side with his back to Mr. Stark. It wasn't the way he normally slept, but it minimized the chances that Mr. Stark would notice any awkward bodily responses to stimuli like, oh, having the focus of his ridiculous, obsessive crush lying next to him. 

Mr. Stark had his glasses on and was giving Friday instructions about what he wanted her to do if he was having a nightmare, so Peter just put his phone back on the nightstand and closed his eyes. 

But after a minute, Mr. Stark patted him on the shoulder. Which was the kind of thing you did to a little kid or a puppy, but again, Peter would take what he could get. 

"'Night, kid," he said. "And thanks."

"'S'what I'm here for," Peter mumbled, and fell asleep before Mr. Stark could answer.

****

Peter woke up to an increasingly unpleasant set of realizations.

He hadn't changed his phone alarm to something less dorky, so it was singing him a little good-morning song at the top of its electronic lungs. He liked that song, usually; it was more pleasant to wake up to than beeping, but he'd meant to choose something more adult last night before he went to bed. 

He couldn't reach his alarm to turn it off because he'd turned over in his sleep and was facing the wrong direction. 

He couldn't turn back over because at some point, Mr. Stark had flung an arm over him, and while Peter wasn't technically trapped, he didn't want to wake somebody who hadn't gone to sleep until at least three-thirty in the morning. 

Also at some point, he'd decided to do his impression of an octopus, and had both his arms and legs wrapped around Mr. Stark, the way he sometimes woke up at home finding himself doing to his pillow. 

And, because he wasn't embarrassed enough yet, he'd had the predictable reaction to being that up close and personal with someone he was attracted to, and if Mr. Stark was awake, there was no way he was going to miss that Peter's erection was pressed into his hip.

Mr. Stark was awake, because when Peter finally forced his eyes open. Mr. Stark was frowning at him. "Kid, you need to wake up and do something about this."

"I'm sorry!" he blurted out. "I can't help it, it's just--"

"Just turn it off," Mr. Stark said. "It's too damn cheerful for this hour of the morning."

Oh. Mr. Stark was complaining about his alarm, not his hard-on. 

Sadly, that was almost definitely because Mr. Stark was old enough and experienced enough to be able to ignore Peter's cock, and not because Mr. Stark didn't mind. 

His alarm clock was apparently a lot less ignorable. 

But Mr. Stark had moved his arm, and Peter could pull away. He rolled over and grabbed his phone, silencing his alarm. "Sorry about that," he said again. 

"It happens," Mr. Stark said. "I just can't take that song before caffeine."

Peter shrugged. "It came with the phone. But I mean, not just about the phone. I'm sorry about the--" _awkward boner_. No, there was no way on earth he was finishing his sentence that way. "You know, the cuddling thing."

"Also not a problem," he said. "It was a little startling when I woke up, but it's not like you can help what you do in your sleep, right?"

Peter had a terrifying vision of all the things he could have possibly done in his sleep. He could feel his face getting hot, and he was really glad he was still turned away from Mr. Stark. 

At least the embarrassment was doing a reasonable job of killing his erection. "Yeah. Uh. I'll try to go to sleep holding onto a pillow or something tonight, to spare you my impression of an alien face-hugger." 

"It's really okay," Mr. Stark said, his voice softer than before; he patted Peter on the shoulder again like he had last night. If Peter developed some kind of Pavlovian reaction where he got turned on every time someone touched his shoulder, he was going to be so annoyed. "Mildly embarrassing, no big deal, a month from now it'll be an in-joke between us." 

Peter took a deep breath. He could live with that. It didn't sound so bad, really. "I'm gonna, uh, get a shower," he said. "Unless you want the bathroom first?" 

"Go ahead," Mr. Stark said. "I've got emails from Pepper I should probably answer, anyway."

Peter took his phone with him into the bathroom and found a "Songs to Sing in the Shower" playlist. He wasn't planning to sing, really, and he didn't even like most of the music--a lot of it was old enough that Mr. Stark probably knew it--but he figured that plus the sound of the shower itself would drown out anything else.

It turned out that embarrassment only partly killed awkward erections, and Peter figured if he wanted to be able to think about anything other than how nice it had felt, for the few seconds before his brain kicked in, to wake up wrapped around Mr. Stark, he should probably do something about it. 

Mr. Stark had been an eighteen-year-old guy once. He probably knew what Peter was doing in here. But with the water and the music and never ever saying anything about it, they could both pretend that he had no clue at all, and that was probably for the best. 

Peter tried to keep things businesslike, if that was a word that you could apply to jerking off. No taking his time. No effort expended in trying to make it especially good, instead of just "there's no such thing as a bad orgasm" kinds of good. And definitely no fantasizing, about anyone. 

Definitely no fantasizing about a different way he could have woken up, with Mr. Stark pulling him into his embrace and kissing him, then--

No. He wasn't going to do that, not with Mr. Stark in the next room. That was asking for trouble. 

Peter finished himself off with a few quick strokes, rinsed down the wall of the shower, and then quickly took care of the actual showering part of his shower. 

Once he'd dried off, he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, and reached for his pile of clothes. 

He was dressing more casually today: one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a t-shirt under his suit jacket. Every bit the college kid going to his first academic conference, he thought. He hoped. 

When he came back out into the room, Mr. Stark gave absolutely no indication that he suspected anything but basic personal hygiene had gone on in the bathroom. 

"Your turn!" Peter said, trying to sound cheerful. "Then we can go downstairs and get breakfast before the conference starts."

Mr. Stark shrugged. "There'll be coffee and donuts somewhere at the conference," he said. 

"I can't get through a whole morning on a donut," Peter said. "I need some protein, or I'm not going to be able to focus."

Mr. Stark made a face, studying Peter for a second. "You look like an undergrad," he said suspiciously. 

"And I am?" 

"Back in my day," he said, "we didn't care about things like protein. Or nutrition." 

"Well, isn't it good that things have improved since then?" Peter said, grinning. "You can't live on donuts either."

"You're not my personal trainer." 

"No, I'm your intern, and I'm supposed to make sure you have everything you need to make your day go smoothly." They'd never said anything of the sort. For one thing, Peter's internship was mostly a cover for the whole Spider-Man thing; for another, even the regular internship part was spent working with Mr. Stark in the lab. 

But it sounded good, so Peter kept going with it. "You need to eat actual food to make your day go smoothly, so yes, I get to tell you that you can't live on donuts."

He got another suspicious look for that. "Has Pepper been giving you notes on how to deal with me?"

"No, but if you think it'd be helpful, I'll email her." He knew Mr. Stark wouldn't call his bluff on that. There was no way that Peter was going to email the CEO of Stark Industries--not to mention that she was Mr. Stark's ex-girlfriend--for instructions on the care and feeding of Tony Stark. 

Peter was just going to have to figure that out on his own, at least as much as Mr. Stark let him. 

"I'm starting to think it'd just be simpler to go down to breakfast with you than to stand here and argue." He got out of bed, going to the dresser and then the small closet to select clothing. 

"Now you get it," Peter said happily.

****

Peter had a problem.

It wasn't the worst problem he could possibly have. It wasn't even the worst problem he could have as Peter Parker (Spider-Man obviously could, and did, have worse problems. People never tried to kill Peter Parker). 

It was still a problem, though.

Maybe it shouldn't have been. Maybe he should have been able to do a better job separating his fantasies from reality, and then he wouldn't be having so much difficulty keeping his mind on anything other than Mr. Stark. 

Because Mr. Stark was treating Peter more like a friend and colleague--an equal, not a kid he'd been trying to teach--than he ever had before this trip.

Peter wasn't proud to admit it, but he couldn't deal. 

When he spelled it out like that in his head, it sounded dumb. "Oh, this person you consider a friend and a mentor is treating you like someone he likes and respects? The horror!"

But it wasn't like that. It was more--

It was the mission, Peter realized suddenly. Mr. Stark had been keeping him close by in case there was any development in the mission. Mr. Stark had been doing things like putting his hand on Peter's back to steer him through a crowd because they probably shouldn't get separated. He'd been leaning in close to talk to Peter because he didn't want people to overhear them.

It wasn't anything to do with him at all. It wasn't that last night had brought them closer together. He'd gotten to see Mr. Stark being vulnerable, and he'd let himself hope that meant that Mr. Stark had also started seeing Peter differently than he had for the past few years. 

He was an idiot. 

And he still had a problem, because he could still feel his cheeks flush when Mr. Stark leaned close and said, "Friday thinks that's our man," and nodded toward a broad-shouldered blond man who was making small talk with a guy who could have been sent from central casting to fill the role of "elderly professor," while they all waited for the current session in the auditorium to let out so they could go in and find seats for Dr. Condit's talk. 

And when the doors did open, and Peter started inside, trying to keep close behind the man Mr. Stark had pointed out, Mr. Stark kept a hand on the small of Peter's back--Peter was pretty sure that people were noticing, and that Mr. Stark's reputation was getting "probably fucking his intern" added to it (Peter should be so lucky)--and Peter's brain nearly shorted out. 

He sped up a little, jerking away from the touch, because they had a mission and Peter needed to be able to think during it. He didn't need to spontaneously combust from unrequited lust. 

Which rhymed. Terribly. Good thing he wasn't a poetry major. 

He could hear Mr. Stark mutter, "Well, okay, then," to himself, and he almost wanted to stop and explain--or send text messages explaining, since an auditorium where someone was just about to give a serious academic presentation was probably not the place for that conversation--but "I can't think coherently with your hand on me" wasn't a conversation he and Mr. Stark should be having. Ever. 

Because Mr. Stark was only paying attention to him because of the mission, and Peter was a dumb kid, still, who needed a serious reality check. 

The seats he found were a couple of rows behind the blond man, and between paying attention to the presentation and taking notes for his professor, and trying to keep an eye on what the blond man was doing (which, at this point, was mostly listening, or pretending to listen, to the presentation), Peter was able to stop thinking about Mr. Stark for stretches of at least thirty seconds at a time. 

Unfortunately, in between those thirty-second stretches was a lot of distraction. They hadn't been able to talk to Dr. Condit privately before now, so the plan was to approach her after her presentation to explain why an Avenger was taking an interest in her personal safety. That meant that Mr. Stark needed to not annoy her so much that she refused to talk to him, and she was already unimpressed by his existence, so he couldn't risk asking any questions or making any comments during her talk. 

That meant that he was furiously typing notes into his phone, and Peter kept trying to read them, which meant that he was looking at Mr. Stark's hands, and Peter liked Mr. Stark's hands. 

They weren't what he'd have expected from a billionaire. Since Mr. Stark's lab could also be described accurately as a workshop, they had calluses, and tiny burn scars from soldering accidents, and one long, thin, white line across the palm of his right hand where he'd cut it on something. 

Peter really wanted to know what those hands felt like on his skin, and it was distracting as hell. 

The notes were distracting, too, in their own way; Mr. Stark was clearly interested in what Condit had to say, but his questions would probably come across as argumentative, because Mr. Stark usually did come across as argumentative. Or arrogant. Or, keeping with the theme of "words beginning with the letter A," like an asshole. 

Peter knew that. He just didn't mind, personally. He hadn't minded at first because Tony Stark had been his personal hero on multiple levels, and he didn't mind now because he knew that Mr. Stark was a better person than most people realized, even people who liked Iron Man. 

But he could see why someone like Dr. Condit might bristle at his questions. Maybe Peter would see if he could ask some of them later. He was pretty good at sounding non-threatening, even on top of the fact that nobody was going to be threatened by an intern-slash-college-freshman. 

Peter dragged his attention back to the man sitting in front of them. He'd taken out his own phone--other people had been using their phones or tablets to take notes, but the man hadn't had his out before now--and it looked like he was texting someone. 

Peter typed something onto his own phone and put it in front of Mr. Stark. He didn't want to actually send a text, in case Mr. Stark's phone wasn't on silent, but this would do. _Put on yr glasses_ , the message said, _see if F can read what he's typing_.

Mr. Stark didn't argue. He took his glasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on. He usually interacted with Friday via voice commands, but just like he could control his armor without saying anything or touching a button, there were some things he could use Friday for without having to speak. 

He nudged Peter with his elbow and mouthed, "Let's go." 

Peter got to his feet and, as unobtrusively as possible, went to the door. Mr. Stark wasn't following him, but when he looked back up, he nodded at Peter, so Peter went ahead out into the hallway. 

It made sense, Peter figured, that they shouldn't leave at the same time. Especially since Peter wasn't supposed to be a superhero. 

Once he was out of the lecture hall, he got a text message alert. _He's got somebody waiting outside. They're going to make their move as she leaves. I'll stay on Blondie._

Peter responded with a quick thumbs-up emoji and surveyed the hallway. The double doors he'd come out of and the matching set a few feet away were the only ways out of the auditorium; Friday had accessed the floor plans yesterday and confirmed that the door up front, near the stage, was a small closet that probably used to house overhead projectors back in the days before laptops. 

The hallway ran in both directions, and at either end, there was an intersecting corridor; this building was built like a big cube, with each floor having either a large lecture hall or a lab in the center, and classrooms or offices along the outer edge. 

Peter went left, walking down the end of the hallway and looking around the corner. It was a long straight shot with no recessed areas where anyone could be hiding, but it didn't dead-end; there was a hallway running along the back of the building too. Peter quickly headed down that hall; the conference was being held during the university's fall break, so nobody had classes. This corridor was classrooms and small labs, with no offices; it was mostly empty. 

There was one door standing open, but when Peter glanced inside, he saw a guy sitting alone at a desk at the front of the room--obviously a computer lab--scowling at the computer. 

"Finish downloading, you son of a--" He broke off when he realize someone was in the doorway. "Can I help you?"

"No, I'm just--" It was perfectly reasonable for someone from the conference to be wandering around the building. A lot of the smaller sessions were being held in classrooms, after all. He didn't have to come up with some great excuse to justify his presence. "Actually, yeah. I think I got turned around. Where's the men's room on this floor?" 

"Along the front of the building, near the elevators," the guy said. "If you came out of the lecture hall, you should have turned right instead of left." 

"Oops," Peter said, smiling and giving an awkward shrug. "Thanks, though." 

"No problem. Can you close the door? I should have done that when I came in."

"Sure," Peter said, pulling the door closed as he went back into the hall. It was probably the safest thing for this guy, if the bad guys made a move and he and Mr. Stark had to stop them. 

Peter continued around the corridors. This floor didn't seem to have any offices on it at all; those must have been on the upper levels of the building, so it was pretty well deserted. 

When he made it back to the front of the building, he found the men's room; it was a good enough place for him to get changed. At least changing into his Spider-Man suit wasn't as difficult as it used to be; he just had to clip the case that housed the nanotech particles to his clothing, and then activate them. 

Okay, though, in one respect, it was just as difficult, because there was a guy in the bathroom when Peter got there. 

If Peter hadn't been paying close attention to his surroundings, he probably wouldn't have noticed anything strange; by the time he was fully in the bathroom, the man was standing at the sink, washing his hands. 

But Peter had been paying attention, and instead of emerging from a stall or turning away from the urinal, the man had been standing still, leaning back against the sink counter, until he realized that he was about to have company. 

Peter tried not to be too obvious about looking at the guy, but he took a quick look in the mirror, smoothing his hair as he did, and managed to get a good view of the guy's face. 

Then Peter went into one of the stalls and, just in case the guy was suspicious and checked, sat down. He got out his phone and texted Mr. Stark. _The other guy's in the men's room. Can't change until he leaves._ He sent that, then texted a brief description of the guy so that Mr. Stark had a chance of recognizing him.

He did attach the nanotech casing onto the waistband of his jeans, then buttoned his jacket so that it'd be covered. He'd take the jacket off anyway before he put his suit on. 

Peter left the stall; the man was still there, now looking very interested in the reflection of his teeth in the mirror. When Peter got to the sink, he was picking at them like he had a piece of spinach or something stuck in them. Peter quickly washed his hands and left, going back around the far corner and leaning against the wall. If the man came out of the bathroom, he probably wouldn't check down that hall, or at least Peter hoped as much. 

He hoped the man hadn't gotten a good look at him, or at least hadn't thought Peter was worth remembering.

He hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself by getting rid of his jacket in the bathroom, but now he took it off, rolled it up, and stuck it in his bag, then made sure his T-shirt hid the casing attached to his pants. 

_Ready_ , he texted Mr. Stark. He couldn't see the doors to the lecture hall, but he could see the hallway just in front of them, and that would have to do. Once people started coming out, he could move to a better vantage point. If he could help avert a kidnapping as Peter Parker, he was going to go for that. 

A few minute later, the doors opened and people started pouring forth into the hall. Peter moved out to join the crowd, trying his best to blend in. 

He was a little annoyed with himself for feeling relieved when he saw Mr. Stark. He was an adult. He was freaking Spider-Man. He could handle this himself. He didn't need Mr. Stark to show up for him to be able to cope. 

On the other hand, they were supposed to be working as a team on this mission, and it was probably totally reasonable to be glad to see that your partner was fine and doing what he was supposed to be doing, right? 

The blond man had Dr. Condit with him, though Peter couldn't see any weapons. Right now it looked like they were just talking. Peter got a little closer, keeping an eye on the door to the men's room. 

"You need to eat," Blondie was saying to Dr. Condit. "And not those dire box lunches they'll have for us downstairs. Come on. We can continue this conversation over a decent meal, and I promise I'll have you back for your two o'clock session." 

He put his hand on Condit's arm; she looked a little uncomfortable and took a step back, but Blondie didn't let go of her. 

"Dr. Condit," Mr. Stark said loudly. "Just the woman I've been wanting to see. I need a minute of your time."

"Mr. Stark," she said, not sounding friendly or the least bit relieved by the intervention.

"Actually," he said, "It's less Tony Stark who needs to talk to you, and more Iron Man. I'm here partly on Avengers business." 

That thawed her a little, or at least got her attention, since "Avengers business" was rarely good news for the people it involved. "This isn't a good time," she said, to both Mr. Stark and the blond man. "There's a panel discussion in ten minutes that I want to sit in on."

Peter saw the other man emerge from the men's room and start making his way toward his partner and Dr. Condit. Right now it looked like the best thing to do would be to get her away from this altogether and let Mr. Stark deal with the bad guys. That way he wouldn't have to risk appearing as Spider-Man and having his presence connected with Mr. Stark's intern. "Is that the discussion on AIs and virtual reality? I'm headed that way. Do you mind if I walk with you? I have a couple of questions about your presentation..." 

He did his best to smile and look completely harmless. Which, of course, as far as Dr. Condit was concerned, he definitely was. 

And just like last night, she was a lot friendlier to an enthusiastic young student than she was to Mr. Stark. Peter had heard enough stories about Mr. Stark, especially back before he became Iron Man, that he wasn't all that surprised. 

He might be one of Peter's favorite people, but that didn't mean Peter didn't understand that Mr. Stark could be--and was, a lot of the time--a complete jerk. 

"Yes, all right, if you keep the questions short. I don't want to miss that discussion. One of the presenters is someone I'm hoping to bring in on a research project."

She started to pull away from Blondie, but his hand tightened on her arm. "Come now, Dr. Condit, we know that panel will be far too basic to interest you. You should take a break before your next presentation."

She pulled back sharply, fear registering on her face when she couldn't dislodge his hand.

Mr. Stark stepped forward. "The lady doesn't want to talk to either of us, apparently." He leaned in and read the name tag on the guy's jacket. "Look, Adam Randolph, if that's even your real name, I'm sure what you have to say to her is really important. I know what I needed to tell her is. But she doesn't have to talk to either of us. Or to your friend," Mr. Stark added, nodding toward the guy from the bathroom, who'd circled around and was standing between Dr. Condit and the elevator. 

Peter saw something that he'd missed earlier: Bathroom Guy was armed. There was a holster under his jacket, and Peter could see a gun. 

It looked like Mr. Stark saw it at around the same time, because within seconds, instead of "Tony Stark in a nice suit," Iron Man was standing there, putting one armored hand on Blondie's shoulder and raising the other warningly at Bathroom Guy. 

Okay, getting a civilian to safety was something that Peter could do without jeopardizing his secret identity. He was Tony Stark's intern; it wasn't totally implausible that they'd talked about what Peter should do if a situation like this came up. "Dr. Condit? Come on. Let's get to the elevator." 

She stood there frozen. Peter forgot sometimes that a lot of people had never seen Iron Man in action before, and definitely hadn't ever seen an Avenger face down an armed criminal. 

"Come on," he repeated, tugging at her arm. "Mr. Stark has this under control. Let's go. You have a panel to get to, remember?"

"Yes," she said, sounding vague. "That's right. The VR panel." She let Peter pull her along, and just in time, because Bathroom Guy had drawn his weapon. 

Most people had had the sense to move away the moment they saw Mr. Stark's armor, but there were still a few people in the lobby. "Everybody get down," Peter yelled. "Now!" People tended to do what they were told in situations like this, if you sounded like you knew what you were talking about. 

He pulled Dr. Condit across the hall to the elevator, hitting both buttons--he didn't really care if they went up or down, they just needed to get out of there. They could get to the right floor later. 

Once she was well out of the way, and just about everyone had obeyed Peter's instructions to get down, Mr. Stark was able to send a low-power repulsor blast in Bathroom Guy's direction, hitting his hand and making him drop his gun. 

The elevator doors slid open behind them, and Peter turned so that he could push Dr. Condit--gently, but firmly--into the elevator and follow her inside. There was an elderly man on the floor near the elevator, and Peter reached out to pull him in as well, before he hit the button for the fourth floor. 

It had all taken maybe a minute, possibly less. Dr. Condit probably hadn't had time to completely process what was happening; she stood at the back of the elevator, her arms wrapped around herself. "My briefcase," she said. "I think I dropped it." 

"We'll get your briefcase," Peter said, trying to sound calm. He wasn't as freaked out as she was, obviously, but still, he thought it'd be a bad sign if he ever stopped being at least a little distressed by something like an attempted kidnapping. The trick, as far as he could tell, was to be able to function anyway. 

"The VR panel's on the first floor," she added, as the elevator indicator ticked upward. 

"Yeah, you're going to be a little late," Peter said, "but they'll probably have to wait a while anyway, until the police come. Right now I want to make sure you're safe."

The man Peter had pulled into the elevator was using the handrail along the wall to get to his feet. "You seem pretty calm about this, young man. I'd guess you were in the military, but you seem a little young for that."

Peter shrugged. "I'm Tony Stark's intern," he said. "I'm supposed to just be his research assistant, but you see some stuff." 

"What happened, though?" Dr. Condit said. Color was coming back to her face, and she relaxed enough to reach up and smooth her hair. 

"I'm not completely sure," he said truthfully, "but Mr. Stark was afraid that there was going to be an attempt to kidnap you from this conference. That's one of the reasons why we're here." He made himself smile at her and tried to look completely harmless. "Also, I get extra credit in one of my classes if I bring my professor the materials from your talk." 

There, that made it sound like Peter was mostly a bystander, dragged into this because his boss was also an Avenger. 

The elevator doors opened on the fourth floor, and Peter tactfully guided Dr. Condit out, then turned to the man in the elevator. "This might be the safest place to be for a while, just in case those guys try to escape," he said, "but you'll probably be okay anywhere in the building. Iron Man has things under control." 

He was mostly sure of that. It wasn't a very complicated situation. Mr. Stark should be able to handle it, but there was always the slight chance that things wouldn't go according to plan. 

"I'm going back down," the man said. "I'm going back to my hotel and calling to see if I can get a flight out of here today." 

Peter couldn't say that he blamed the guy. He looked like he was at least seventy-five, and this was probably a lot more excitement than he'd bargained for. "Let's find a place to sit down," he said to Dr. Condit. "Since they were after you, you should probably stay up here until they're in police custody. They won't come this way if they make a break for it. I don't think they can fly." Unless they had some kind of special ability, anyway, but Peter was guessing not. 

For the next twenty minutes or so, Peter did his best to be exactly what he was pretending to be: an enthusiastic college student who'd seen some weird stuff in his part-time job. 

It wasn't that hard, because he _was_ that guy. He was just more than that, and that was the part that he had to keep Dr. Condit from seeing. 

He steered her through a door marked "Graduate Student Lounge"; there was one woman there typing furiously on a laptop, but other than glancing up when they came in, she didn't say anything to them. There were vending machines, including one for hot drinks, so Peter got Dr Condit a cup of coffee and bought himself a bottle of soda. 

"Mr. Stark will let me know when it's all clear," he said. "The police are probably going to want to ask you some questions, but not until they're sure everyone's safe." Just to be sure that Mr. Stark didn't forget, Peter texted him with their location and told him they'd wait upstairs until they heard from him. 

By the time the return text came, Dr. Condit had calmed down considerably and seemed to be in control of herself again. "This is disrupting my entire schedule," she said. 

"On the bright side, it's disrupting the entire conference schedule," Peter told her. "I don't know what they're going to do about that yet. The police need to interview a lot of people." 

Including him, but he wasn't worried about that. He was used to dealing with the NYPD as Spider-Man. This wasn't New York, and he was here as himself, but he was there with Iron Man, so it would probably all be fine. 

A female police officer was waiting for them when they got off the elevator on the second floor again; she led Dr. Condit off to get her statement, while Peter found Mr. Stark--still in his armor, maybe to make a point, but with the helmet off--talking to a couple more police officers. 

"We're going to need a statement from your assistant," one of them was saying as Peter came up. 

"My intern," Mr. Stark corrected, "and he's right here." He smiled at Peter. "Good work today, kid. I like people who can think on their feet." 

Peter hoped he wasn't blushing. He felt like he might be. There was definitely a warm feeling spreading throughout his body. 

"Are you over eighteen?" the police officer said. "Because otherwise, we're going to need a parent or guardian in the room when we talk to you." 

"Uh, yeah. I'm eighteen," Peter said. "Am I in trouble?" he added, because he thought that if he wasn't used to the aftermath of this kind of situation, he'd be worried about that. 

"No, kid," the officer said. "We just need to get a witness statement from you, then you'll be free to go." 

"I'll be waiting downstairs," Mr. Stark said. "Come down when they're done with you. The conference is on hold for a few hours, maybe indefinitely."

Peter nodded. "You mean because of all this disruption?" 

"I mean because one of those guys had a lot of messages with the conference chair on his phone," Mr. Stark said. "Go on with these officers. I'll fill you in later." 

Peter figured that a perfectly normal intern wouldn't be able to demand more information from his boss, so he let the officer lead him into a classroom to get his statement.

****

"So is the conference canceled?" Peter said when he caught up to Mr. Stark forty-five minutes or so later. By the time the officer had taken his statement and Peter had read it over and signed it, a lot more time had passed than Peter was expecting.

Spider-Man never really had to do that kind of thing. He'd never really thought that it was easier to be Spider-Man than to be a normal person. 

"It doesn't look like it," Mr. Stark said. "I'm willing to bet that Dr. Mefford--that's the professor here who's the head of the conference committee--had something to do with the kidnapping attempt, but there's no conclusive proof. Randolph--that's Blondie--had asked him some details about the building, but they could have been innocent questions. Or anyway, Mefford could have been answering them innocently."

"What are we going to do?" 

"I recommended a private security firm to Dr. Condit. That's really all we can do. She's aware of the danger she's in, but she's an adult. She can make her own decisions."

"She's a college professor," Peter said. "Can she even afford a private security firm?" 

He shrugged. "I offered to foot the bill. She said she doesn't want to owe me a favor, so we'll see what happens. She really doesn't like me."

"She doesn't like billionaire capitalists," Peter said. "She said so while we were waiting upstairs for the all-clear. She thinks you're the scum of the earth." 

Mr. Stark laughed a little. "She's not completely wrong."

"You're not the scum of the earth," Peter said. "You're Iron Man. You're an Avenger. You're one of the good guys." 

"She could make a pretty compelling argument," he said. "Still, thanks for leaping to my defense, kid."

Now Peter was sure he was blushing. "I just know you a little better than she does," he said.

"You know me differently, anyway," he agreed. "But anyway. Afternoon sessions have all been delayed for a couple of hours, and most of them have been moved to meeting rooms in the hotel because the computer science building is currently a crime scene. Do you want to stick around for the rest of it, or go home? We can have the jet ready to take us back to New York before dinner." 

"Are you kidding?" Peter said. "I want to stay." Even if that meant that he had to share a bed with Mr. Stark again for the next two nights; their original plan had been to fly back to New York on Saturday morning, and this was only Thursday. 

But now that they'd done what they'd come there for, as Avengers, Peter could enjoy the part that he'd come there for, as an engineering student: the conference itself. And maybe the part that he'd come there for, as a guy with a giant crush on his mentor: several days in Mr. Stark's company, without a lot of distractions. 

Not that his crush was going anywhere. He knew that. But still, he liked Mr. Stark, and he thought Mr. Stark liked him (not in the same way, maybe, but liked him), and these few days could be good for their friendship. Their friendship as sort-of equals, two actual adults and Avengers, as opposed to the kind of friendship an adult had with a kid that they felt sort of responsible for. 

And whether or not that crush was going anywhere, developing that friendship was a good thing, right? They were teammates, now that Peter was an Avenger. Peter was still a Stark Industries intern, and he felt like he had a pretty good chance of being hired by SI once he had his degree, or maybe a master's, so they were colleagues. Getting to know one another better, in a different context, couldn't be bad for them. 

"I was kind of hoping you'd say that," Mr. Stark said. "I'd have left if you wanted to, because we've done what we came here to do, but I'd like to stick around, too. Some of this research looks interesting, but also, we can't be completely sure that Dr. Condit is safe, so it's probably best all around if we do stay here for the weekend." 

Peter nodded. "Okay, then. It's agreed. We're sticking with our original schedule."

"That means that we have about a three and a half hour lunch break," Mr. Stark said. "How about we skip the box lunch or the campus student center, and actually go get something decent to eat?"

Peter hesitated. Their hotel room came with breakfast, and the conference had meal options that he'd had no problem letting Stark Industries, or the Avengers, or whoever was technically footing the bill for this (it probably all came down to Mr. Stark in the end anyway), pay for. But this was different, and Peter didn't have a lot of spare cash. 

He got a stipend from his internship, but that mostly went to things he needed for school that his scholarship didn't cover, and being Spider-Man made having a part-time job difficult. Ned had joked that he should rent himself out to be Spider-Man at birthday parties, but Peter wasn't that desperate, at least not yet. 

Mr. Stark had probably never had to worry about whether or not he could afford lunch in his life, but he'd known Peter long enough that apparently he could read Peter's mind. "This is a business trip," he said. "Your boss will pick up the tab." 

"Okay, then," Peter said. "Sure." And that way, they could talk about what had happened this morning without a lot of people interrupting. This wasn't that huge of a deal. If they left the immediate neighborhood of the university, most people probably wouldn't even have heard about it yet. 

Besides, it was as close to a date with Mr. Stark as Peter was going to get, and he was clearly a glutton for punishment.

****

"So do you ever spend time anywhere that isn't, like, New York or Tokyo or somewhere like that?" Peter said, snickering as Mr. Stark flipped through the oversized menu at O'Flanagan's Restaurant and Pub.

"I had a house in Malibu," he said. "It got blown up, though." 

Peter remembered that from the news. "Malibu is basically LA, right?" 

"More or less." 

"So that's not really a normal place either, is my point," Peter said. "You should have had some idea that a chain restaurant was going to be your best bet."

"And since when did you become an expert on the world outside Queens?"

That could have been an insult, but, well, Peter _had_ spent his whole life in one borough. "We used to go on vacation when my parents were alive. And then when my uncle was alive, he and May and I did, too. And I've been on school trips." 

Then he shrugged. "Besides, I don't hate fast food. And I know where good places to get food are in my neighborhood, because it's my neighborhood. We don't even know our way around this city, and there's only so much GPS and Friday can do." 

"I have no problem with this kind of place," Mr. Stark said. "I just wanted to take you somewhere a little nicer."

Peter told himself firmly that didn't mean he was thinking of this as a date. 

"You know, as a thank you for helping out with this mission. And for, uh, last night. Which was definitely not what you'd signed up for when you agreed to this trip."

"Sleeping with the boss?" Peter said, because sometimes he was a terrible person who couldn't resist. 

Mr. Stark choked on the sip of water he'd taken. "Phrasing," he said, taking another sip that went down a little more successfully. 

Peter just stuck a straw in his glass of iced tea and virtuously refrained from commenting. 

"Anyway," Mr. Stark said, "this place is fine, the burgers look decent." He nodded toward a neighboring table, where a family--dad, mom, and a couple of very small kids--were eating lunch. Both parents had burgers and fries, and they did look okay to Peter. It was hard to screw those up, and they wouldn't have been microwaved.

"Also, they have a dessert called Chocolate Suicide," Peter said. "And I'm definitely getting one." 

Mr. Stark flipped to the last page of the menu and read the description. "That's kind of horrifying," he said. 

"I'll share with you." 

"We'll see." 

This was feeling more and more like it wasn't quite a normal lunch between team-mates, co-workers, whatever you wanted to call their relationship. Mr. Stark had wanted to impress him. He'd spluttered when Peter had made that joke about sleeping together, but he hadn't seemed bothered, just surprised. And while Peter definitely had split desserts with a friend before, he and Mr. Stark weren't that kind of friend. 

They ordered their lunch--burgers for both of them, though Mr. Stark apparently felt like being mature, because he went with a salad instead of fries. Then, once I'm-Carla-your-server had gone to put in their order, Mr. Stark said, "All joking aside, it's not just that we wound up having to share a room. With one bed. That's the kind of thing that can happen to anybody. It's--I'd considered booking two separate rooms, not a suite, because I didn't want you to have to deal with the fallout if something like that happened."

"If you had a nightmare," Peter clarified. 

"Yeah."

"It's no big deal," he said. "I mean, yes, it felt like a big deal to you, I'm sure, it always does to me when I have dreams like that." He'd woken up on the ceiling a few times, trying to escape whatever what chasing him that night. 

"But dealing with it's not a problem. What am I supposed to do, be mad at you because you have bad dreams? We're all lucky that we ever have a night's sleep without nightmares, and you've seen a lot worse stuff than I have, so that goes double for you."

"I'm supposed to be the adult in this situation, though," Mr. Stark said, "and making you deal with my personal issues isn't fair to you."

"I'm eighteen years old. I have a high school diploma, I can vote, I can get drafted, I can fight crime. Maybe I haven't been one for very long, but I'm an adult. And your friend. And I don't mind." And besides, if anybody was going to apologize for last night, Peter probably should, what with all the clinging. 

But apologizing for that would require bringing it up, and Peter didn't really want to do that if he didn't have to.

Mr. Stark was looking at him thoughtfully. Peter didn't know what he'd said that deserved that degree of consideration, but after a few seconds, Mr. Stark nodded. 

"You're right. I've been thinking of you as the same kid I offered this internship to, but you're not any more, are you? Like you said. You're a young adult, maybe, but you're an adult. I can usually remember that when you're in the suit, but sometimes when you're not, I seem to forget." He smiled at Peter. "So one thing definitely has to change." 

"Yeah?" Oh, God, what if Mr. Stark decided he didn't need the internship any more? Or that Spider-Man didn't need Iron Man helping him out from time to time? 

Peter loved the times that Mr. Stark went out into the streets with him. Even though he tended to stay in the background, Peter liked being able to talk over situations with him afterward, developing better strategies and identifying things Peter needed to work on, as well as confirming the things he got right. 

"My adult friends call me Tony, not Mr. Stark." He paused. "At SI, go ahead with 'Mr. Stark,' since nobody there is supposed to know how much time we spend together out of the lab. But in general? It's Tony." 

"Uh. Okay. Sure... Tony." The name sounded weird to him--any time he said "Tony," it was generally immediately followed by "Stark," because he was giving Mr. Stark's full name. 

_Tony's_ full name. 

He might not be getting the kind of relationship he wanted, but this was still great. Having his childhood hero consider Peter his actual friend? Ten-year-old Peter would have probably hyperventilated from excitement at the thought. 

Eighteen-year-old Peter was a little less awed by Tony Stark. Finding out that there was a person underneath the armor and the image was great, Peter wouldn't have traded it for anything, but it did dim the hero worship a little bit. Knowing the actual person was a lot better than just admiring him from afar, though, even if it did mean knowing how far from perfect Tony was. 

But he was still thrilled, both because it meant that maybe the Avengers in general were going to see him more as a full-fledged adult member of the team, and not their kid sidekick (he'd hoped holding off on joining the Avengers until last year would have taken care of that, but it really hadn't), and because it meant that this was more to Tony than just a mentorship. 

They were friends. He wasn't going to stop wanting to be around Peter just because he didn't think Peter needed his guidance any more. 

Again, maybe not what Peter secretly wished for, but in the real world, it was still good. 

Their food arrived, which gave Peter something to do other than awkwardly try not to blurt out an overemotional reaction to something that wouldn't seem like that big of a deal to most people. Definitely not to Tony. 

Maybe Tony had picked up on the fact that Peter was overreacting a bit to a simple request like, "Call me Tony," though, because after he'd taken a couple of bites of his lunch, he said, "So, I'd like to keep an eye on Dr. Condit for the rest of the conference, but she won't thank us if we follow her everywhere she goes. I know we'd planned out our schedule based on sticking close to her, so is there anything different you'd like to do now?"

Peter nodded. "There's a panel on quantum computing that-- _hey_!" Without thinking, he reached out and smacked at Tony's hand as he reached for a couple of Peter's french fries. Then he realized what he did and wanted to slide under the table and die of embarrassment. 

Sure, they were friends, but that didn't mean he could treat Tony like he would Ned. They weren't that kind of friends. 

But Tony was laughing as he pulled his hand away. "Aw, what, you can't even share a couple of fries?"

"Get your own fries," Peter said, relaxing a little when he saw that Tony was reacting pretty much the same way Ned would have. "You can afford them." 

Tony rolled his eyes. "When you get to be my age, you realize you might be able to afford the cost, but not the cholesterol." 

"Then you could have asked. Also, you're not that old. My aunt still eats fries." 

Tony sighed. "I didn't want them, but then yours just looked tempting. I'm terrible at resisting temptation." 

"Yeah, anyone who's ever read a gossip site knows that," Peter said--and then wished he hadn't, because Tony's smile faded almost immediately. 

He'd heard Colonel Rhodes teasing Tony like that before, and that plus the french fry incident had led Peter to think that kind of joke would be okay, especially since Tony wasn't really making the gossip columns as often as he did even just a few years ago. 

Peter wasn't proud that he had alerts for "Tony Stark" and "Iron Man" set up, but he wasn't embarrassed enough that he'd ever disabled them, either. And the last thing he'd seen that wasn't business- or Avengers-related had been some pictures of Tony and a woman who'd been a pop star before Peter was born, at some charity dinner. Nothing scandalous. And before that, there had been the gossip about why Tony and Ms. Potts had broken off their engagement. 

All of which was probably wrong. Tony and Ms. Potts still seemed to get along just fine, the few times Peter had seen them together at Stark Industries, so Tony couldn't have done anything too terrible. 

People just broke up sometimes. Like him and MJ. She was still one of his best friends, but they'd decided they were better off as friends than as a couple. Nobody had done anything wrong. It just hadn't worked out. 

But apparently he and Tony weren't that kind of friend, at least not yet, and joking about gossip sites was off limits. "I'm sorry," Peter said quickly. "I didn't mean anything bad, I just--I'm really sorry, Mr. Stark. Tony. I know most of the stuff on the internet is exaggerated, I just thought it'd be funny."

Tony shook his head. "It's fine, kid," he said. "And actually a pretty good comeback. I tell you what. You want to make it up to me? Let me have a couple of your fries." He smiled at Peter again. Even knowing that it was probably fake, it still made Peter feel warm and happy. 

Friendship, he reminded himself. Much better than a crush that couldn't ever go anywhere. 

"I don't feel _that_ bad about it," Peter said, which made Tony laugh. 

He put half a dozen fries on Tony's plate anyway.

****

After lunch, the rest of their day had gone pretty smoothly. At least, it had gone smoothly if you didn't count being asked to leave the quantum computing panel--Tony first, because he'd been yelling at one of the panelists for being stupid and wrong, and then Peter, because he'd asked the same things of the same panelist, just a lot more politely.

Peter didn't count it, because that guy was wrong. There were some fundamental errors in his reasoning that meant you couldn't trust any of his research, and somebody needed to call him on it. 

Maybe Tony shouldn't have called the guy a drooling idiot, but he deserved it, once he pulled the "I have a PhD. and you don't" card at Tony. 

For one thing, Tony was an engineer, and there wasn't much reason to get an engineering PhD. unless you wanted to go into academia. For another, he was Tony Stark. It didn't matter how many degrees you had, you had to at least consider that Tony might know what he was talking about. Not that he was automatically right, but that there was a chance he was right. 

Peter had been afraid that would put Tony in a bad mood for the rest of the day, but he'd forgotten that this was Tony, and he was still laughing about the look on that panelist's face as they were going into the next talk. 

After that, they'd wandered around the vendors' hall. It was a lot smaller than the ones at big tech expos, obviously, and a lot of the tables were from textbook publishers and software companies, hoping to attract the interest of college professors. But there was someone selling geeky T-shirts, and Peter bought one, because it wasn't like he ever got enough of those. 

Tony had wandered off while Peter was deciding on his shirt; Peter found him flipping through a sample textbook and arguing with the publisher's rep about the book's explanation of the Turing test. 

"Tony," Peter said, "this guy didn't write the book." Then, just in case, he looked at the rep, who shook his head. 

"I'm in sales," he said. "I don't understand most of what's in these books." 

Tony shook his head. "I'm not surprised, since this book is total crap. Hey, you think your publisher would like that as a quote from me? 'This book is total crap.--Tony Stark.' It'd probably boost your sales. There are a lot of academics out there who aren't exactly my biggest fans." 

Peter laughed. "After this conference, definitely."

"So did you want me for something?"

"I wanted to save this guy from you," Peter said. "I can't take you anywhere, can I?" He felt his face get hot as he realized how that must have sounded. It got even worse when the sales guy's eyes went wide for a second as he realized how it sounded. 

Tony, on the other hand, seemed to remain firmly oblivious to how it sounded, which Peter decided he'd do his best to be grateful for. It'd spare him a little embarrassment, anyway, because he was pretty sure that Tony would find his blunder funny. 

It was kind of funny, but he wasn't ready to laugh at it right now. 

But Tony also let Peter draw him out of the vendor hall and into the next session that Peter wanted to see, and then afterward, he agreed to Peter's suggestion that they order pizza in the room rather than going out again. 

Word would have spread around town about what had happened at the conference, and people would want to talk to Tony, and Peter didn't want to share. 

He shook his head, snorting a little in dismay at his own ridiculousness, as he looked through the stack of delivery flyers in the room and picked out a pizza place. 

"What's that look on your face for?" Tony asked. He was hanging up his jacket and tie; as Peter tried not to watch, he rolled up his sleeves before sinking down onto the bed next to Peter.

"Nothing," Peter said. "Just--" He shrugged. "Kind of feeling ridiculous about something, that's all. Nothing important. Just dumb kid stuff." 

"Hey, I know all about feeling ridiculous," Tony said. "When I do something stupid, it's usually on YouTube within fifteen minutes." 

"Not that kind of stupid," Peter said. Then he decided that it wouldn't hurt to be honest, as long as he changed some details. So, semi-honest, anyway. "There's this person. Back at school, I mean."

"A person," Tony repeated. 

"Okay, a guy," Peter said. "There's a guy. At school. A student," he added quickly. "And I'm kind of stupid about him. It doesn't matter, because he's so not interested in anybody like me, but I've been sitting here reminding myself of all the times I've been a total dork in front of him lately." He shrugged again. "You wouldn't understand. I'm pretty sure you've never been an idiot in front of anyone you liked, ever." 

"You would be wrong," Tony said. "And not just the awkward tongue-tied kind of idiocy that's what I'm guessing you did in front of this guy. Who is probably telling himself the same thing, and thinking there's no way someone like Peter Parker would ever look twice at him, by the way."

"Thanks for the attempt at a pep talk," Peter said, "but I'm pretty sure he knows that he's way out of my league. If he's ever even thought about me at all. And he's also probably noticed that I'm an idiot." 

"Then fuck him," Tony said. "Not literally, though that could work too. If he thinks he's too good for you, the hell with him. You're Peter Parker, and one of these days, that name is really going to mean something. At least in the world of science, even if the rest of what you do is still a secret." 

Peter looked up at Tony. That was just round two of the pep talk, he was sure, but it was working. "You think so?"

"Does this sound like the kind of thing I'm wrong about? And more importantly, does it sound like the kind of thing I'd say just to make you feel better?" 

"Definitely not." He didn't say things just to make Peter feel better; Peter knew that. Not that he wouldn't tell Peter something that he knew would make Peter feel better about himself, but only if he really believed it. 

_He doesn't think he's too good for me,_ Peter thought. _He thinks he's too old for me. Or I'm too young for him. Or maybe I'm just not his type. He could have anybody he wants, after all._

"Anyway," Peter said, maybe a little too loudly and a little too forcefully, "you need to decide what you want on your pizza." He handed the menu over to Tony. 

If Peter didn't know the pizza place very well, he always ordered the same pizza--pepperoni, sausage, and onions. He'd never found a pizza place so bad that they could completely ruin that. But if the times they'd had pizza delivered to the lab were any indication, Tony didn't have a standard order. 

"Let me guess," Tony said, "I should make sure it's something you'd eat, because you're going to eat your entire pizza and half of mine." 

"Super-speed and super strength take a lot of food," Peter said automatically. They always had this conversation when they ordered pizza. 

Though sometimes Tony got weird, gross pizza toppings like sliced potato anyway. Peter generally just picked the stuff off he didn't like, though Tony kept reminding him that they put mayonnaise on pizza in Japan, and threatening him with that. 

Peter was pretty sure that "they do it in Japan, so it's obviously great" was a terrible argument whether it was being made by a guy in the high school anime club or by Iron Man. 

Today, Tony went for normal, non-bizarre, pizza, probably because the choices here were pretty limited, and when Peter asked if they could get an order of wings along with the pizza, he didn't even mutter about teenagers who could inhale an entire elephant and still look like they'd blow away in a strong wind. 

And for a while, Peter even managed to forget about his stupid crush; they found a basketball game on TV, and even though it was on one of the "classic sports" channels that played twenty-year-old college games from colleges nobody really cared about, they wound up each picking a team to support and trash-talked one another all through dinner. 

A couple of times, Peter thought Tony was watching him instead of the game, but he couldn't think of any good reason for that. "Do I have buffalo sauce on my face?" he asked, after the third time. 

Tony shook his head quickly. "No, you're fine, you're good," he said, and then turned back to the game. 

When Peter finished eating, he pulled out his phone, because he wanted something to distract him from the scenarios playing out in his head, the ones where Tony had said something like, "No, you're fine, I just really want to kiss you now," and then things went on from there. 

He was kind of pathetic, he realized, but clearly there wasn't all that much he could do about it. 

Catching up on what his friends were doing and texting with Ned kept him from getting too wrapped up in his fantasy world of stupid things that were never going to happen. He emailed his professor a few links that Dr. Condit had provided during her talk, and promised the physical handouts the next time the class met, too, so he at least wasn't a failure as a student. 

He wasn't a failure at much, honestly. He was an okay student, he was a decent scientist even if he hadn't finished college yet, he was a pretty good friend except when being Spider-Man got in the way. He wasn't terrible at being Spider-Man, either. 

He was just a complete idiot who had gotten fixated on the world's least available guy, and he was terrible at just being glad that Tony Stark liked him and actually seemed to kind of respect him. 

Even with his attempts to keep himself busy, he kept finding himself glancing over at Tony, who had settled back against the pillows and also had his phone out. Email, it looked like, and then Peter made himself look away, because what it was, was none of his business. 

Around ten o'clock, when Ned had signed off for the night--Peter'd been surprised, for a minute, but then remembered that it was an hour later there, and Ned had a seven a.m. physics lab on Fridays--Peter got up and went to get ready for bed. 

When he came back out of the bathroom, wiping toothpaste off the corner of his mouth, Tony had moved over to the chair he'd been in last night. 

God, Peter hadn't thought that he'd made things so weird this morning that Tony would actually want to avoid sleeping in the bed again. 

"I'm not ready to go to sleep yet," Peter said, "I just figured it was a good time to get changed. You won't keep me awake if you come back over here. The game's not even over yet." 

It was the second game they'd watched, and from the uniforms, it was from the eighties or so. Neither of them really cared about it, but it was a good enough excuse, Peter thought. 

Tony shrugged. "I can see the TV from here," he said, "and after last night, I think it's a good idea if I stay over here." He looked tense, almost nervous, and Peter suddenly realized he'd been a complete dumbass. 

This wasn't about the way they'd woken up this morning, It was about last night, before Tony had come to bed. 

"You had Friday disable the armor when she detects REM sleep," Peter said. "She can do that remotely, right, even if you're not actually wearing the glasses?"

"As long as they're in the room, yeah." 

"Okay, then, what's the problem?" Last night, Tony had just had Friday disable the armor while he was sleeping, but he'd told Peter that he'd figured out a better plan for long-term use. When he was in REM sleep, Friday would lock the armor in whatever state it was in when he entered the REM cycle, in case he had to sleep in it at some point. 

"Even if my armor doesn't activate," Tony said, "I could still have a nightmare." 

"So?" That went without saying. "So could I. So could anybody. It's a thing that happens, especially to people who have a lot of crappy stuff happen to them when they're awake. It'll be fine."

"I don't want to bother you."

"So it turns out that 'something's wrong with Tony' is a thing that sets my danger sense off?" Peter said, although he couldn't really be sure of that. 

It might have been the fact that Tony's nightmares had activated the Iron Man armor, and if Tony's sleeping brain wanted to attack whatever it was dreaming about, Peter could have been in danger. It almost definitely was, based on every other thing that had ever set that sense off.

But it sounded good. And if Peter had any choice in the matter, that was how it would work, because he considered "something's wrong with Tony" to be a serious problem. 

"So," he said smugly, "it doesn't matter if you're in the chair or in the bed, I'm going to wake up if something goes wrong. So you're sleeping over here tonight, with me." 

Then he heard how that last bit sounded and couldn't backtrack fast enough. "I mean, not with me, but. You know what I mean." 

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tony said, "but is phrasing really not something your generation worries about any more?" 

Peter pulled back the blankets on the bed and got in. He wasn't tired, and he did intend to watch a little more of that basketball game, but the room was cool and the blankets were warm, and besides, it never hurt to be comfortable. 

Mr. Stark came back to the bed after grabbing a piece of the leftover pizza from the box on the desk, though to Peter's disappointment, he sat down on top of the blankets on his side of the bed. "Which team are you rooting for?"

"Green uniforms," Peter said. He had no idea what college that even was, to be honest, but one of the forwards was hot, and if he had to pick a random team to cheer for, there were worse reasons. 

"Still not tired of cheering for a losing team? Obviously the University of Fucking Nowhere, in the blue, is going to mop the floor with your guys from Loser University."

"Excuse me," Peter said, "but--I know it's hard for old men to see clearly, but that says 'James K. Polk Community College' at the bottom of the screen." 

Tony started laughing. "Jesus Christ," he said, "I'm watching community college basketball." 

"From before I was born!" Peter added, helpfully, and snitched the pizza from Tony's hand.

****

He was trapped. There was rubble on top of him, and nobody was going to come help him, Mr. Stark didn't even think he was worth helping, and he was going to die here and Aunt May was never going to know what had happened to him...

"Hey, kid," someone was saying. It sounded like Mr. Stark, but that wasn't right, why would Mr. Stark be out here? Mr. Stark didn't care what happened to him anymore. 

But whoever it was, he was still talking. "Kid. _Peter_. Come on, wake up, it's okay." 

"Gah!" Peter opened his eyes, realizing that his heart was racing and he was breathing like he'd been running. 

He hated that dream. He hadn't been having it nearly as often lately, but maybe talking about having nightmares had reminded his subconscious that it hadn't been throwing that fight with Liz's dad at him in his sleep lately. 

Then Peter's brain caught up to the rest of the situation, which was that Tony's hand was on his shoulder and his other hand was rubbing his back, and before the _smart_ part of his brain finished waking up, the part that really liked waking up to Tony touching him leaned up and kissed Tony. 

And of course, that was when his common sense wore up and started flailing in panic. "Oh, my God! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I must not have been awake yet!" He grabbed a pillow and put it over his face, because he couldn't stand the thought of seeing Tony being grossed out about Peter kissing him. 

"Can we just... laugh this off? You know, the goofy stuff people do in their sleep?" he went on, even though he had to adjust the pillow a little so that he could be heard. As long it it was over his eyes, that was still good. He just didn't want to look at Tony. 

Mr. Stark, he told himself. He should probably go back to calling him Mr. Stark, because Tony was because they were friends, and nobody wanted to be friends with the weird guy who kissed you just because you were being nice to him. 

"Yeah," Tony said. "Yeah, of course we can. You were probably still dreaming, right? You didn't even know it was me." 

That was it, that was exactly the right lie, the one Peter wanted Tony to believe. (He didn't want to call him Mr. Stark again, even if he should.) 

But Tony's voice sounded weird and tense and unhappy, the way it had last night after his own nightmare, and when Peter cautiously lowered the pillow, Tony was looking away, plucking at something on the bedspread. Or nothing at all on the bedspread, just as an excuse to not look at Peter. 

"I'm sorry," Tony said. 

That took a minute to sink in, because usually Peter did the apologizing. Sometimes the excessive apologizing, even. "What for? I'm the one who tackled you in my sleep." Exaggerating a little bit, maybe, but it made his point clear. He sat up and turned on the light next to the bed; it seemed like nobody was going back to sleep any time soon. 

"I think I've been making some very wrong assumptions about you for--" He hesitated, and Peter couldn't tell if he was thinking, or just wishing he wasn't having this conversation. "For a couple of years now, really." 

Peter blinked. "Is it okay if I point out that I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about? Because I really don't."

Tony looked at him now; he was rubbing a hand over his chin, and then he sighed. "I guess now that I brought it up, I can't back out now no matter how bad it makes me look," he said. "I've been under the impression that you're--that you've been flirting with me. Sometimes incredibly ineptly, but definitely flirting. And that you've been doing it for a while--a year or so, anyway."

Peter shook his head. "You're definitely wrong," he said. "I've been flirting with you for at least three years now. I mean, probably really, _really_ badly at first, but..." He shrugged. "I needed some practice?" 

"Thank God," Tony said, "I thought I was getting too old to recognize flirting when I saw it." He grinned at Peter. "So what was that 'let's just laugh it off'?" 

"Humiliation," Peter said. "I mean, there you are, just being nice to me, and I kiss you." He shrugged. "Besides, it's not like you wanted me to kiss you. Is it?" 

He was at least ninety-five percent sure that it was, actually, but Tony hadn't actually said that he was flirting back, just that he'd thought Peter was flirting.

"Peter," Tony said, shaking his head, "you're smarter than that. If I hadn't wanted you to kiss me, we'd be having a conversation right now about how I'm very flattered, really, but this just isn't ever going to happen. Are we having that conversation?"

"No," Peter said, "you're trying to avoid telling me that you like me." 

"I have no problem telling you that I like you. I've been letting you into my lab for years, that should make it pretty obvious that I like you." Then he grinned. "What I'm trying to avoid telling you is that I'm giving some serious consideration to seducing you right now." 

"Does my opinion matter?" 

"Obviously."

"I think you should go for it. You're not getting any younger. Who knows how long you'll even be able to seduce anyone?" 

"Have I ever told you you're a pain in the ass?" 

"A few times," Peter said. "But I get the feeling you like pains in the ass. I mean, Colonel Rhodes gives you crap all the time, and he's your best friend." 

Tony laughed. "You might be right." 

"So would it be okay if I kissed you again now that I'm actually awake?" 

"Be my guest," Tony said, and Peter scooted a little bit closer so that he could kiss Tony. 

Yeah, it was a lot better when he was awake, and not going to regret it five seconds from now. He could put his hand on the back of Tony's neck, gently tugging him down to make it easier to kiss him, and when he put his other hand on Tony's back, Tony responded by wrapping his own arms around Peter while kissing him back. 

And to think, if Peter hadn't had that nightmare, he'd still be sound asleep now and only dreaming, at best, about kissing Tony, instead of kissing him for real, over and over again, their kisses getting more and more heated until Peter realized he was going to be really disappointed if they stopped with just kissing. 

"Hey, kid," Tony began, during a brief pause for air, then laughed. "You know, I might need to break myself of the habit of calling you that." 

"Maybe," Peter said. He didn't generally mind it, but it wasn't the sexiest nickname ever. "At least while we're in bed?" 

Oh, God, he was in bed with Tony. Not just "yeah, there's one bed in this hotel room and nobody's sleeping on the floor," but _in bed_ with him. He closed his eyes for a second, taking a couple of deep breaths, because his imagination was running in overdrive and he needed to calm down. 

"I'll do my best," Tony said. "Anyway, what I was going to say was, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, but have you done this before?"

"No," Peter said. "I have absolutely never made out with you in a hotel room before now. I think I'd remember." Once he got the eye-rolling reaction he'd been hoping for, he went on, "Sex, you mean." 

"Yeah. Like I said, I don't need any details you don't feel like sharing, but I'm guessing there's an experience gap here, and I'd like to make sure I don't come on too strong."

"You could definitely be coming on stronger," Peter said. Or he could, he realized. He kissed Tony again, letting the hand on Tony's back drop down, coming to rest on his thigh instead and then deliberately moving it upward. 

The most daring thing anyone had ever done? No. But Peter wasn't a porn star here, or even an international playboy, and he had to start somewhere, right? 

"But...I've done some stuff," he said. "I haven't had time for much." Being Spider-Man ate up most of his free time, and being Tony's intern had taken up a lot of the rest. 

Besides, until last summer, he'd still been attempting to date girls, and he'd never done more than kiss them. The fact that he'd never minded not doing any more than kissing them had been part of his realization that he really wasn't pansexual no matter what he'd been thinking, just plain gay. 

"I've kissed people, obviously," he said, because he hoped it was obvious that this wasn't the first time he'd ever kissed anyone. And because he hoped Tony hadn't assumed that nobody else had ever wanted to kiss Peter. That'd be embarrassing. "And, uh. There was this guy, during orientation week in September? We met at a party, and we fooled around a little."

Not as much as Peter had wanted to, but his senses had gone on red alert, and he'd spent the entire rest of the night being Spider-Man, and the guy--Joel--hadn't responded to any of Peter's texts after Peter bailed on him. 

Which was fine, obviously, because Peter hadn't been looking for a boyfriend, exactly, but he felt bad about the way he'd run off. It had probably looked like he'd freaked out because he'd just touched another guy's dick, and...no. Not really. 

He really didn't want to have to tell Tony about having to make excuses in the middle of giving a guy a hand job because of being Spider-Man. 

At least Tony would understand if that happened when they were together. He'd be right behind Peter on the way to investigate. He'd probably complain about it, but that was fair. Peter had complained a lot on his way to that carjacking. 

"Okay," Tony said. "This guy didn't happen to give you a blow job, did he?" 

Peter shook his head. He didn't blush. He was very definite about that. He didn't blush, because there was nothing embarrassing about this conversation at all. 

"Oh, kid." So much for not calling him "kid," Peter thought, but then Tony grinned at him, bright and happy but with something wolfish about the edges, and said, "We are going to have so much fun." 

Peter tried to agree, but it came out as something like, "Nngh." 

Tony laughed and kissed him again. "Sounds like you're in favor of that plan," he said. "Come on, then, lie down." 

Peter did, pushing the blankets down toward the foot of the bed, and lifted his hips to help Tony slide his sweatpants down toward his knees. They went down easily, and Peter was glad he hadn't worn anything tighter to sleep in. 

He was going to really pay attention to this. After all, he was going to want to do this to Tony in the future--maybe not tonight, but he was definitely going to want to get his mouth on Tony one of these days soon. He owed it to Tony to pay close attention, to make mental notes about technique, to...

And then Tony nuzzled against his cock as he licked, then lightly sucked, at the fragile skin covering his balls, and Peter realized it was going to be a miracle if he remembered his name once Tony really got going. 

"Yeah," Peter said, "I'm so in favor of this plan." 

He propped himself up on his elbows a little so that he could watch Tony as he moved on from Peter's balls to licking his cock: slow, deliberate swipes along the length interspersed with quick and delicate flicks of his tongue against particularly sensitive areas of Peter's cock. 

This was getting too good, too quickly. It was going to be humiliating if he came before he even managed to get Tony's mouth around his cock. It was going to be humiliating if he came five seconds after he got Tony's mouth around his cock, too. Basically, everything about this was going to be humiliating, and Tony was going to hate that Peter couldn't last for very long....

Tony stopped, pulling back to look up at Peter. "If I'm doing something you don't like, tell me," he said. "Don't just lie there tensing up and looking miserable. I want you to enjoy this, not endure it." 

He shook his head quickly. "I'm enjoying it," he said. "Really. Maybe, uh, a little too much?" 

Tony chuckled as he figured out what Peter meant. "That's the plan," he said. "No such thing as enjoying it too much."

"I don't want it to be over too fast, though." 

"I promise, I'll take it as a compliment," Tony said, still smiling at him. "And it's not like this is a one-time-only offer, unless you decide that you want it that way. We can take our time later." His smile softened, and Peter squirmed a little from the heat in the way that Tony was looking at him. "In fact, we're definitely going to do that, sometime when I have all night and nowhere to be in the morning. But right now, just let me do this for you." 

He lowered his head again, taking Peter's cock into his mouth and beginning to suck, one hand curled around the base of Peter's cock and the other playing with Peter's balls. 

Peter lasted longer than he'd been afraid he would, but still, it wasn't that long before he was clutching at the sheet beneath him--hearing the fabric rip under his fingers, but not really caring right then--and struggling to not just arch up into the wet heat of Tony's mouth.

"God, Tony," he gasped, and then "Tony!" again, as his vision whited out for a second and he came into Tony's mouth. 

The sensations were almost too much for him; he closed his eyes, because sometimes, shutting out one avenue of sensory input helped him cope with all the rest of it. It did help, a little, but for a little while, Peter couldn't manage anything but lying on the bed and trying to remember how to breathe. 

Then he managed to get his senses under control again and he risked opening his eyes. Which was totally worth it, because Tony was grinning smugly down at Peter as he stroked his cock. He'd gone to bed without a shirt and his pajama pants were pulled down, elastic waistband underneath his balls to give him free access to his cock. 

"Let me help?" Peter said, reaching out for him. Tony let his hand fall to his side, his breath hissing through his teeth when Peter closed his hand around Tony's cock. 

"You're going to have to show me how you like it," Peter said, starting to slide his fist up and down Tony's length. 

"Tighter," Tony said, and then, as Peter followed instructions, "Yeah, like that."

Peter let go for a moment. "This angle's terrible," he explained. "How should I--" He thought for a second, then kicked off his sweatpants to get them out of the way. He scooted up on the bed, sitting with his knees as far apart as he could and leaning back against the headboard. "Can you sit here? Would that be okay?" He patted the bed between his legs.

"I was going to suggest something simpler," Tony admitted, "but yes, that's going to work." He moved in between Peter's legs, leaning against Peter's chest. "Are you comfortable? I know you're a lot younger than me, but that doesn't look like a comfortable way to sit." 

"I'm really flexible," Peter reminded him. 

Tony's immediate response was something between a snort and a laugh. "Yeah, I know. I kind of forgot that would apply here as well as in your suit." Then he shook his head. "I have no idea how I forgot, since I've definitely thought about the--" He gave a fake cough. "-- _recreational_ applications before now, but it's late and I'm distracted."

"You're about to be way more distracted," Peter said, taking Tony's cock in his hand again. Tighter than he liked it himself, Peter reminded himself, as he started to stroke. 

The angle was a lot more familiar now, and that let Peter concentrate on everything that was new at this: the weight and shape and heat of Tony's cock in his hand, the way he could make Tony gasp and shudder and moan just by touching him, by rubbing his thumb over the head of Tony's cock every time his hand slid up that far. 

Peter had never really thought about being able to make Tony react like that. He'd mostly thought, when he had--which, he admitted, was pretty often--about things that Tony would do to him, and that had been amazing, but this was a different kind of rush. Almost... powerful? He might be Peter Parker, the geek from Queens, but he could make Tony Stark groan and fuck desperately into his hand, just by touching him. 

It wasn't surprising that Tony lasted longer than he had, of course; Tony wasn't an eighteen-year-old almost-virgin. But it was definitely gratifying to see that he didn't last _that_ long, and the way Tony groaned, "Oh, God, Peter," when he came all over Peter's hand and his own stomach was something Peter was definitely going to be replaying every chance he got. 

Tony twisted around to kiss Peter, and then half-rolled, half-flopped back over to his side of the bed to snag the box of tissues from the nightstand. He grabbed a few and passed the box over to Peter, who gratefully took them to clean his hand off. 

Once they were both cleaned up enough that the rest could wait until morning, Tony put the box back, turned out the light, and turned to Peter again. "Think you can sleep now?" 

"Yeah, probably," he said. It was still the middle of the night, and yeah, sleep did sound pretty good to him right about now. 

"No more nightmares?"

"I don't usually have them again the same night," he said, "so I should be fine." 

"Let's be on the safe side, huh?" Before Peter could wonder what Tony meant, Tony had draped his arm over Peter's chest, tugging him closer. 

Peter let himself be tugged over, and even dared to put his head on Tony's shoulder. He expected Tony to tell him that was too much, from the way he felt Tony tense up under him, but all Tony said was, "I'll try not to wake you up, if I can't sleep."

If he was the one to have a nightmare, Peter filled in for him. "I'll be fine," he promised. "Unless you want me to move?"

"No," Tony said quickly. "This is good." 

"This is better," Peter said, turning onto his side so that now he could be the one to wrap his arms around Tony. 

He could feel himself drifting off to sleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep fast enough to miss hearing Tony say, sounding almost surprised, "Yeah, I guess it is."

****

Peter wasn't entirely sure what the etiquette was for the morning after. He probably could have figured it out if Tony had been in bed with him when he woke up, but when he opened his eyes, he was alone.

He almost freaked out before he heard the shower running. Okay. It was... wow, it was eight-thirty already. Yeah, fine, it was reasonable that Tony was in the shower and not in bed with him. 

Peter grabbed his phone, about to text Ned, and then realized that this might not be a thing he could tell Ned. He might not be allowed to tell Ned. Didn't some rich and famous people make the people they had sex with sign NDAs, so they weren't allowed to talk to anyone about their relationship, at all? Or was that just a thing that happened in the movies? 

But even if he was allowed to tell Ned, this might be... nothing. He didn't think it was nothing. The way they'd gone to sleep last night suggested to Peter that it hadn't been just a one-time thing. But just in case it was, maybe he should hold off. 

Besides, the shower had turned off, and it was just possible that Tony was going to come out of the bathroom naked (Peter tried very hard not to make any puns about "Stark naked," but the best he was going to hope to achieve was "not making any puns about Tony's name _out loud_ ," he suspected), and Peter didn't want to miss that. 

Tony didn't come out of the bathroom naked, but he did just have a fairly small hotel towel wrapped around his hips, which was almost as good. 

So was the smile Tony gave him. "Your turn in the bathroom. Come on, we need to get moving." But he came over to Peter's side of the bed, bent down, and gave Peter a long, slow kiss, which didn't exactly inspire Peter to get out of bed. 

At least he didn't need to find an excuse to carry a pillow in front of him on the way to the bathroom. Tony wasn't going to be bothered at the thought of Peter having a hard-on, unless Peter had hallucinated a lot of last night. 

And maybe Tony wouldn't mind if--

Tony had taken his hand off his towel in order to cup Peter's chin, and while the end of the towel was staying securely tucked in, all it took was a quick tug for it to go tumbling to the ground. 

Tony just laughed. "Like what you see?" 

"I do," Peter agreed. "I liked it fine last night, I just didn't get a good look." He was getting one now, though. Tony wasn't hard, not by a long way, but his dick was definitely taking an interest in the way Peter was looking at him. 

But then Tony sighed. "We really do need to get going. I let you sleep this morning, but if you want breakfast..."

"Of course I want breakfast. What kind of a monster doesn't want breakfast?" Tony, usually, from what Peter knew of him, but there was no way that Peter was going to make it all the way to lunchtime with no food. 

"The hotel breakfast room closes at nine, so how about we make a quick stop at that diner down the road and then head over to the conference?"

Oh, yeah. The conference. Peter hadn't really thought about that this morning. They'd been there to make sure Dr. Condit was safe, and since they'd foiled that attempted kidnapping, he'd sort of let himself stop thinking about it. Especially after last night. But they still had one more day of the conference to go, anyway, and it was an opportunity Peter shouldn't waste. 

Tony was still talking. "A greasy spoon isn't exactly where I'd intended to take you for our first date, but let's say nothing from this trip counts? I'll take you somewhere nice when we get back to New York." He must have seen the way Peter was looking at him, because then he shook his head. "Or a greasy spoon, if that's what you want. That's fine, too. Assume 'somewhere nice' means 'somewhere you'll like.'" 

Peter shook his head. "That's not--I mean, I was just surprised that you... that sounds like a date." 

"Yeah," Tony said slowly, "that's why I called it that, because it's a date. I recognize that most people prefer to get the first date out of the way before the sex, but since when do we do things the way most people do? Also, I've got to be honest here, I'm pretty sure at least half the times we've grabbed lunch when you're in the lab with me count as dates, given the amount of flirting that's been going on, so really, we've technically waited until the fortieth date or so." 

Peter stopped feeling awkward; it was hard to do that when you were laughing so hard at what a dork Tony could be. Peter used to think of Tony as the epitome of suave coolness, but that hadn't lasted for very long once they'd started spending time together. When Tony tried, he was definitely able to be suave and cool. When Tony didn't give a damn about the people he was talking to, he always made sure he was at his coolest. 

When he was talking to Peter... okay, Peter should have worked out a while ago that maybe he wasn't the only one who'd been dealing with--okay, for him it was a crush, but he had no idea whether or not Tony would refer to it that way. 

"A date is good," Peter said. "Dates are fine. I just wasn't sure you were going to want to, you know, be in public with me, except as your intern." Peter was eighteen, so it wasn't like Tony could get in trouble. 

Not legal trouble, anyway. His PR people were probably going to start drinking once they had to deal with "Tony Stark has an eighteen-year-old boyfriend," and that was before May or Ms. Potts or the other Avengers got started. 

"Yeah, I don't do secret relationships," Tony said. "I'm pretty terrible with secrets, overall, unless they're about my research or something life-and-death, like you being Spider-Man. Did I ever tell you that I was supposed to pretend I wasn't Iron Man? I didn't even get through one press conference before I'd told the world." 

He smiled at Peter, then leaned in close and kissed him softly. "If you don't want to tell people," he added, "then that's different, though."

"No," Peter said. "I want to tell everyone I know. I almost texted Ned this morning, but then I realized I didn't know how you felt about it, so I figured I'd wait." 

"You can text Ned," Tony said. "But after you get your shower, okay? We do need to get going." Tony stepped away, turning to get some clothes out of the dresser. 

Peter waited for a moment to get out of bed, because how often did the opportunity for him to ogle Tony's ass like that happen? 

Well, probably more often now, but it hadn't ever happened before. 

But then Tony pulled on his underwear, and Peter reluctantly got up to take a shower.

****

"I asked Dr. Mefford, and he says that Dr. Condit was flying home this morning. He took her to the airport himself and stayed with her until she went through security," Peter said. "Do you think she's going to be okay?"

"She's publicized her research," Tony said. "That's going to make her a less desirable target. People will be able to find at least the basics on her work online, and she'll be publishing soon, so nobody's going to have an exclusive lock on her work, even if they did kidnap her." 

He sighed. "I still wish she'd hire a security company for a while, but there's not much we can do about that." 

"So that means our mission here is done, right?" 

"Technically, yes," Tony said, picking up an abandoned conference schedule from the table and looking it over. "I mean, officially we came here for the conference, and it's not ending until this afternoon, so there's no reason we have to go back immediately unless you want to."

"Didn't we plan to fly home tomorrow?" They'd been planning for the possibility that they'd need to escort her to the airport for her own safety. Tony had insisted that the TSA would let Iron Man through to accompany her, even if he didn't have a ticket, and Peter figured he was probably right. 

"Yeah, but that's the advantage of having a private plane," Tony said. "We can take off this afternoon if you'd prefer."

Peter shook his head quickly. "Not really," he said. "I mean... nobody's expecting us back until tomorrow, are they?" 

"Nope. I've filled Rhodey in on how things went, but I didn't tell him to expect us back early. He's probably assuming we're going to stay at the conference." He held up the schedule. "If you want to stay, we can see if any of the last few panels look interesting." 

It was already almost noon; Peter hadn't intended to distract Tony by walking out of the shower naked, but he wasn't going to complain about the results, except that it had been ten-thirty before he finally got breakfast. 

"They don't," Peter said. "But we have our room for another night, and right now, nobody knows but us, and..." He shrugged. "It might be nice to have another day of that before we have to go home and deal with..." He waved his hand in the air in what he hoped was an all-encompassing gesture. "Everything." 

"Not a bad idea," Tony said. "So if you don't want to deal with... 'everything' until we get home, I should probably behave myself in public now, right?"

"Why? Miguel already gave me a serious talk about how getting involved with your research supervisor was a very bad idea. If he assumed it, everyone else probably has too. Even if they've all probably assumed that you seduced me, when it was totally the other way around."

"Was it?" Tony said, laughing. "I don't remember it that way."

"I'll be happy to refresh your memory back at the hotel," Peter said, and then, so that Tony couldn't come up with another reason why he should behave in public at least until they got to New York, kissed him. 

Peter wondered who the last person to shock Tony Stark had been. He was kind of enjoying knowing that he'd been able to do it, though. 

"I can't take you anywhere," Tony muttered, putting his hand on Peter's elbow and steering him back toward the exit. 

"I thought that was my line," Peter said, grinning at him. 

He'd thought being with Tony would be awesome. He'd thought it would be hot. He hadn't been wrong. 

But he hadn't ever thought about whether or not it would be fun, and it was looking like it definitely would be.

****

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Arctic Monkeys' "I Wanna Be Yours." 
> 
> You can find me on [Dreamwidth](https://mireille719.dreamwidth.org/).
> 
> This is the last fic that I'll be posting under the Saperli_Popette account. Given how many people I know and love (myself included!) are in some form of lockdown and bored silly, I've been posting fic rapidly, rather than spacing it out the way I normally do. That means that the next Peter/Tony fic I post will be posted much sooner than May (I have to finish editing it, but I'm hoping to post it later this week, next week at the outside). If you like my P/T fic, and you've been subscribed to Saperli_Popette, you might want to sub here. (I'll also be removing S_P as a co-author of all my fic at that time.) Links and bookmarks should still work, since the fic itself hasn't been deleted.


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